


Darker than Black

by will_o_wisp



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Brother/Brother Incest, Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_o_wisp/pseuds/will_o_wisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of an attack which killed his mother and injured Chuck, Herc's trying to do his best with a son struggling with PTSD and health problems that no one can explain. All he knows is he'll do anything for his boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sonora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonora/gifts).



> Okay so I know I'm supposed to be working on my cowboy au, but this idea is sticking at me and I'm sort of roadblocked with what to do in cowboy, but I promise I'm going to go try to work on it RIGHT NOW and see how it goes. In the mean time, enjoy this! The chapters will be posted alternately with the other story.
> 
> Inspired by 'Let the Right One In' (Swedish version, haven't seen the American one).
> 
> Also, for information, Chuck is 17 and is turning 18 soon in this timeline. I'm tagging underage just in case.
> 
> Gifted to the lovely Sonora, who seemed to want this, and because they're amazing.
> 
> And while THIS version is written by me, plot line credit also goes to my lovely husband, who initially role-played the idea with me.

“Mr. Hansen?”

Herc looked up from his lap. He’d been holding onto a rolled up magazine that he’d given up reading about an hour ago. He couldn’t even remember what kind of magazine it was, or the title. He’d read the first article several times over without retaining a word.

He stood, slowly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept. His head was aching.

“Here, Doc,” he said, head swimming a bit. “How is he?”

“Stable,” said the woman, Dr. Michaels, pushing a strand of hair back from her face. “We’re treating the light sensitivity as a migraine symptom, and he took the transfusion well, but he’s still anaemic. Is he keeping food down?”

 _No,_ thought Herc. “Not really.” Not at all, so far as he knew. “Haven’t your tests shown anything?”

“We’re still looking.”

“It’s been a month.” Thinking of it, of Angela, caused a fresh stab of pain, reopening the wound he’d been trying to ignore. Herc had to try not to picture the way he’d found her in their living room.

“We know, and we’re sorry Mr. Hansen,” said Dr. Michaels. “This way.”

He followed her down the hall, not really taking in his surroundings. Everything seemed more like a white blur.

The last month had been hell.

He stopped when she did, and she nodded at two men wearing long coats. Herc blinked at them once, before recognizing who they were. Detectives, detectives he’d had to sit across from in an interrogation room not long enough ago.

“Haven’t you lot done enough?” he demanded, to see them.

“Just checking in.”

“Well jog on,” said Herc. “Make yourselves useful and find the man who hurt my son and killed my wife.”

He glared at them, as he walked past and into the hospital room. The lights were dimmed, on Chuck’s side of the room, curtains drawn. Herc blinked, feeling himself come awake, as he opened the curtains and slipped inside.

Chuck was a lump on the bed, curled up and facing away from him. One pale hand was clutching the back of his head, dug through his sweaty hair. He was wearing hospital scrubs, the tear away kind. Next to the bed was a bag of clothes Herc had brought, but apparently Chuck hadn’t felt well enough to change yet.

Before Herc spoke Chuck stiffened, like he realized someone was there.

“Chuck?” asked Herc, stepping forward.

For a moment, Chuck didn’t move. Herc was about to speak again, when Chuck slowly rolled to face him. For a split second, he looked funny. Something about his eyes seemed wrong. But then Chuck blinked at him and he looked normal again. And so much like Angela it was almost like a physical pain.

“Hey sprog,” he said.

“Don’t call me that,” said Chuck, sitting up very slowly, like he was unsure of himself. There was a bandage on his arm, from the transfusion.

“Right,” said Herc. He swallowed hard, sitting down next to Chuck. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” said Chuck, but his voice sounded weak. “Little tired.”

“Me too. Doc says you’re not so good with light still?”

“Hurts,” said Chuck.

“Your head hurt too?”

Chuck looked uncomfortable at that. “Bit, I guess.”

 _Weird._ But the whole thing was weird.

“Where’ve you been?” asked Chuck.

“Held up on base. Word didn’t reach me that you’d collapsed until you were already here.”

Chuck didn’t say anything. He merely drew his knees up higher, until half his face was hidden, and he looked at the top of the bed.

“I came as soon as I heard.”

It hurt. Not being there for his boy when he needed it. He hadn’t been there a month ago, when everything had happened, it hurt all the more now to know Chuck had almost died again when Herc was supposed to be caring for him.

Dr. Michaels entered after a moment. The light made Chuck wince, covering his face, and Herc fought the urge to reach out and touch him. Pat him, hug him. Like he hadn’t properly since before the incident. Beyond the doctor, the detectives were approaching, peering through the gap in the curtains.

“Can I take him home?” asked Herc.

Michaels nodded. “I’ve prescribed him with medication to combat the anemia, and we’ve taken blood samples to try and locate what's going on, but...”

But it had been a month, and still no answer.

They were living out of a small place on the base. They’d never lived on the base before. Angela had always insisted living off of it, where she’d feel less stifled by rules and regulations. Chuck was longing for home.

“We can go home?” asked Chuck hopefully, and Herc sighed.

“On base, anyway. But tomorrow we're going to go to Uncle Scott's. He's promised to put us up until we can sell the house.”

Chuck made a sour face at that. Herc knew Chuck didn't particularly care for the farm, and Herc didn't really want Chuck there anyway. He knew what his brother got up to out there, but it beat the hell out of keeping Chuck on base with babysitters that didn't know how to care for him. Besides, the boy was seventeen. He didn't  _need_ babysitters.

Blowing out a breath, Chuck looked at the curtained over window. “Why are _they_ here?”

Herc frowned. “The doctor?”

“No. The detectives.”

Expecting them to have entered, he didn't see them, and he wondered how Chuck knew they were even there. Perhaps he'd seen them peaking.

“Sniffing around for someone else to bother, I expect,” said Herc, getting a smirk out of Chuck. “Fuck them.”

He made no secret of his loathing for them, ever since the police had arrested Herc in his front yard, with everyone staring.

Reaching over, Herc picked up the bag of clothes that he had sent the nurse in with. “Do you need help getting dressed or are you okay?”

Another face. Chuck hated needing help for everything, feeling weak. Probably didn't want Herc touching him either.

“I can let you try to manage first if you like.”

Nodding, Chuck took the bag from him. Herc reached out to give him a pat – anything – and withdrew his hand again. He'd hardly touched Chuck since the incident. He wanted to touch him. To do anything to show he cared. But he didn't know how.

Years of practicing neglect had him floundering.

**

Digging through the bag, Chuck looked at what he'd been brought. Jeans, underwear, socks, a t-shirt, and his favourite hoodie. A big loose one he'd stolen from his dad, an old Nirvana thing from the early 90's. It hung on his frame, but Chuck resolved to fill it out one day.

Careful, he eased himself off the bed and peeled out of his scrubs. He had to concentrate on not ripping them as he listened to what was going on outside of his curtains. His father was making arrangements for Chuck's information to be sent to another hospital.

He was just glad they were outside. It helped the burning.

Weakly, he got dressed. Concentrating on one foot after the other, pulling on his shirt, it took him a few minutes to finish, and when he was done he lay on the cot and panted for a few minutes more, wanting to be alone.

Like this, he could taste the smells on the air, and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore them. The way he ignored heartbeats now.

He was all wrong now.

“Chuck?”

He wanted to ignore his dad, but he swallowed. His throat felt thick.

“Yeah?”

Herc's head poked in a moment later, and he followed when he saw Chuck was dressed. “You okay?”

Nodding, Chuck sat up in his cot, contemplating Herc. He smelled too good, and breathing through his mouth didn't help this close in proximity. He could  _taste_  Herc as well as smell him. Everything got jumbled up in his mouth and head, combined until there wasn't much of a difference anymore. It was like his senses had been doubled or tripled, and he couldn't tell anyone about it because it was impossible.

And god, that heartbeat was maddening.

“Ready?”

Chuck shrugged, nodded, and slid off the cot. He needed a second to steady himself as his legs wanted to give out, and then he sighed, standing straight. He covered his head with the hood. The lights here all hurt him, though the ones at home didn't. He was sure they worked off a different wavelength. Chuck found it easiest to pretend to have migraines.

Walking ahead of Herc, he slipped out of the curtains.

The hospital smelled funny. Like disinfectant and death. The last part though didn't smell _bad_ though. It had Chuck feeling sort of like he'd just stepped into an orchard. The scent was fragrant, like fruit. He didn't even know how it meant _death,_ just that around some people the scent seemed to cling stronger to. Chuck hated himself for liking it so much.

The way out was familiar now, and Chuck beelined for the exit. He wasn't exactly fast, but he needed to get out. Needed to get back 'home' to use the next day to prepare for going to Scott's. He didn't like it there, didn't have many friendly or loving memories of the stupid farm, but he knew he didn't have a choice but to put up with it.

Following Herc's scent, Chuck could even find the ute without having to look around much. He could only do it thanks to his dad being right beside him, otherwise the smell was too jumbled. Herc took lead anyway, but Chuck ignored him.

He opened the car door, being ginger with it, and climbed inside. It smelled strangein there. He couldn't place the scent. It wasn't exactly good. The best Chuck could compare it to was like smelling ketchup next to something you actually wanted to eat. Not the ideal.

He hated himself for the food comparisons, but it was all he had.

His throat was set burning, when Herc got into the vehicle with him. He looked out the window at the night, clenching his jaw. It helped, now that he'd had his transfusion, but he was still so  _thirsty,_ and nothing helped anymore.

He knew better than to ask about the funny smell, too. His dad wouldn't know what he was talking about.

The base wasn't far. Herc had probably chosen it for the close proximity to the hospital. Chuck hated it there, the security check ins and all the military personnel. He used to feel cool and at home there, but not anymore. Too many people. And it was never _home._

The weird smell came back, after they'd pulled up in front of the tiny single story home they were living in until Herc arranged for something better. He was in the front door when he caught it, hitting him like the scent of human did.

There was an animal in the house. The idea sent a blaze of terror through Chuck, and he shrunk back against his dad before he even saw it.

But he could hear it. He could hear it's clacking toenails on the fake hardwood. Hear it's heavy breathing, its beating heart, and Chuck tried not to whine with fear as the burning in his throat got worse from the proximity of his dad.

Animals had a strange animosity to Chuck now, like they knew everything going on in his head. Like they knew what Chuck wanted to do to them when he saw them.

“Dad what the fuck is that?” he said, staring down, looking at the young bulldog that sat down obediently before them, looking up with big wet brown eyes.

“It's... well. It's a companion dog. It was part of what was tying me up today. I got an allowance to get a special dog for you. He'll watch you, remind you to take your meds, keep you company. Look, he likes you.” Herc nudged Chuck forward.

It was true, the dog wasn't snarling. Probably the first one now that hadn't done that or fled at first sight, as if it were made of stronger stuff than the rest. All Chuck could think of was the last incident, when he'd wanted to kill the neighbors cat when it had attacked him in the backyard. The consuming urge.

It made Chuck want to puke, even if there'd been nothing in his stomach to throw up. Because after it all, he'd googled what kind of symptoms wanting to kill animals meant.

Psychopathy.

He shuddered, looking at the dog. Feeling the same low-key urge.

“His name is Max. You can change it if you want, but it's what he's set with now. Go on, say hello. Like I said, he likes you.” Herc sounded desperate.

Chuck swallowed, looking up at Herc with a pleading expression. “I'll... hurt it.”

“No you won't, kiddo. He's a big tough bulldog. Just wants to be friends.”

“But what if I do?”

“You can't.”

“Dad.”

“You won't.” Herc looked nervous now. Like he wanted to ask something. Maybe why Chuck was afraid of hurtingit instead of it hurting him. “You like dogs. Go on.”

Chuck looked nervously back at the dog, then knelt down next to it. Held out a shaking hand.

“H-Hi Max.”

Without a sound, the big dog got up and stepped forward and snuffled his hand. The dog didn't give any indication that Chuck's scent was somehow bad. Instead he tilted his head for scratches, and Chuck's lips twitched in a smile.

“Take him out back, kiddo. He's probably got to go by now,” said Herc. “Go on. He trusts you already.” Herc sounded relieved as Chuck felt, that the feeling of a warm body under Chuck's palm hadn't made him... lunge.

God, Chuck was a monster now.

“Come, Max,” he said mildly, feeling a different sort of something well up underneath his voice that he had to push down. He led the dog outside into the yard.

It was comforting being outside now, alone but for the dog that obediently went about and snuffled in the grass before doing its business. He liked the outside at night. The smell of the wind in the trees, all the green. Chuck picked a clear spot and lay down, stretching out as he let the dog explore its new territory.

This was the only nice thing, he supposed, about being all weird like this. How the night was comforting now.

He had about fifteen minutes alone before Herc called him in, and Chuck went a little unwillingly after calling to Max. Looking into the animals eyes felt weird. Like he could do things if he spoke right. Like the animal might do things. He got the urge with people sometimes, but it was stronger with the dog.

Chuck went to his room, dog at his heels. He didn't mind him as much as he thought he might, but being _alone_ with it for a full day in his blacked out bedroom might mean something so much more.

“Are you going to go out at sun up?”

Herc liked it when Chuck went out, got sunlight. Dawn and twilight were the only times Chuck could.

“To let Max out.”

“Good. I'm going to go to sleep. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. Go.”

They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment. Chuck climbing weakly onto the bed, Herc at the doorway.

“Okay.”

His dad looked tired. Beyond tired. He probably didn't sleep much anymore.

Chuck on the other hand, hadn't slept since the incident.

And when he did drift off, in this sort of not-sleep state, he saw things. Heard things. Felt things.

He remembered things. Terrible, painful things. He saw his mother screaming as the man who'd broken in attacked. Could hear the snaps of bones before she died with a horrible sound. He felt pain at his throat and tasted blood in his mouth as he did everything he could to get away.

He remembered what it was like to feel like he was dying piece by piece and fading away. Becoming less than nothing.

Blackness. A hungry confused and desperate blackness that pleaded for his daddy, rejecting the stranger in his head that asked for the title.

And that blood _,_ when he woke back up. The screaming, body twisting sensation as something happened to him. Something wrong. A light taken away from Chuck, forced away with the delicious, wrong, taste in his mouth.

Chuck had no real words to describe it anymore.

At the foot of the bed, the dog whined. It wanted up.

“You're too fat for me to lift,” Chuck told it, and it whined again. With a sigh, Chuck slid off the bed and onto the floor.

“Looks like someone loves you already,” said Herc.

Chuck didn't look up. He was focused on the round, brindle and white ball of wrinkle and fat climbing into his lap, clearly unafraid. Unlike the cat, or the crows that had attacked him, or the squirrels which screamed at him. This puppy liked him, still thought he was... normal.

If he'd still been capable of tears, his eyes would have overflowed. As they were, they simply went red like he wanted to, and Chuck let out a little sob, cold hands petting at the soft fur. The dog, though, seemed to realize something was wrong and nuzzled him, going still at once.

He looked up at his dad and nodded, trying to breathe right. Everything hurt more, with everyone so close. His belly ached, throat burned.

Wanting to cry, he picked up the dog and put his face in its neck. The overwhelming burning sensation got even stronger, but Chuck didn’t let it make him react. He just held the dog, and the dog let himself be held by the new, desperate boy.

Chuck needed to be touched. He looked up, past the wrinkle flaps of ears the dog had, and held out his hand. Like he was four again, it was easier to open and shut his hand when he asked for contact, rather than urging Herc closer. Begging for him.

Herc walked forward unsteadily and took it. Next to his dad’s hand, even if they were both pale freckled gingers, he looked ashen.

“Thanks dad,” he murmured, letting his hand be held in the burning hot skin of his father’s big palm.

“You’re welcome, sprog. Get some rest, okay? We’ll pack your things when I get up, and we’ll leave when it starts to get dark. And don’t forget your meds.”

Chuck nodded absently. He’d throw the pills up anyway. Just like he threw up water.

Herc made to leave, letting go of Chuck’s hand. He was halfway to the door when he paused.

“There’s nothing I won’t do for you, Chuck.”

He looked up at that, wondering what was coming. If his dad might actually tell him he loved him. Chuck couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard those words from him, and somehow he didn’t want them now. Chuck was too messed up for those.

Been messed up since he was fifteen, and found out he was fucked up enough to have a crush on his old man. Add in the signs of sociopathy that Chuck was starting to experience, and he really didn’t want to feel like more of a headcase. Even if his brain _insisted_ Chuck still felt emotion like the average human being.

The signs were there.

“I mean it Chuck. You’re my boy, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

They stared at each other, in the dark, and Chuck swallowed around the lump in his throat. This was as close as Herc ever got to saying it. Chuck was okay with that.

“Night, dad.”

“...Night, Chuck.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chuck didn’t sleep anymore. He could dream though, in his own way. A dream that held him and wouldn’t let him go even when Chuck could hear everything going on around him. He knew Max was there, snuffling a hand that was clawed into the bed sheets. He knew his dad was awake, doing something in the kitchen. He could smell food.

But he didn’t see his room, his ceiling. He saw his mother dropping lifeless from the arms of a man dressed as a police officer. He looked up and met his eyes. Unnatural, toxic green. Burning into his own.

 _“You,”_ they said, as Chuck turned and ran, a scream building in his throat. The dying sounds of his mother still in his ears, the last tears he’d ever shed hot on his cheeks.

He went for his dad’s gun, but of course the lock was on it. The key would be with his mother, and he let out a croaking sound to find it unusable.

Next he went to the closet, wondering if the man was following, as he found the aluminum baseball bat his father also kept. He was about to drag it out, go out swinging, when the hand landed on his shoulder.

_“You. You’re the one I’ve been searching for.”_

Chuck looked up into those eyes, his own going wide. He wanted to say things, say something smart and cutting. Not to go out like a crying baby.

But he couldn’t find the right things to say. He reached up to throw the hand off and fight, but they grabbed his wrist. Yanked him up.

Chuck screamed, as they pulled him to his parents’s bed. Pushed him down on top of it. Terrified, as they ripped his shirt off. Panicking now. Was the man going to try to rape him? Chuck wouldn’t let him. He’d kill him -

Chuck clawed at those green eyes, but his wrist snapped when they pinned it. The man still had blood on his mouth, his mother’s blood. Chuck was screaming as loud as he could.

_“Shh, child. You’re mine now. You’re the one. Aren’t you lucky?”_

Max was barking, Chuck was starting to scream as he writhed on the bed, trying to get the feeling off his neck. The feeling of teeth. What the doctors insisted must have been a barbecue fork.

“DAD! DAD! DAD!” he was chanting it as he thrashed, he heard the heavy thump as Max jumped at the door. There were footsteps on the stairs, but Chuck couldn’t force himself to stop screaming.

_“Kill him when he comes in, Child. Kill the unworthy father, and come outside. Come to me.”_

The door opened, and Chuck looked over at Herc. For a moment he felt all wrong, inside and out, as the voice continued but the dreams went away. And in that moment he wanted to kill his own father. To obey, and rip Herc’s throat out with his teeth. Kill the dog, kill everyone, and run.

Then he snapped his eyes shut again and rolled until he fell off the bed. The pain from striking his forehead against the bedside table was jarring enough to make the feeling go away.

He was alone again. Alone in his head.

Max was still barking, pawing at him. Chuck bared his teeth, opened his eyes, and glared at the dog. _“Stop.”_

The dog sat, ceasing its barking. His voice and mind felt… strange.

He realized, as he was being lifted up, that his father was there. That he was talking to him, saying his name. He sounded desperate.

Chuck looked at him. “Dad?”

“I’m here. It was just a nightmare.”

_A hallucination._

His eyes focused then, sliding from Herc’s concerned blue eyes and down to his neck. To see the little twitch of skin where a vein pumped away. And if Chuck just leaned in, he could-

“No!”

He shoved, kicked. Each movement was weak, clumsy. He was always strong before. One of the strongest, most athletic kids in the entire high school. And now here he was a weak mess of a teenager, going scrawny with time.

Herc at least let go at once, setting Chuck on the bed and backing away. He had a pinched, worried look on his face. “It’s alright, Chuck. I’m not him. I won’t… do anything bad.”

Chuck fought the urge to bare his teeth again as he rolled, burying his face in the pillow, holding his breath. Wishing his dad, like everyone else, didn’t think Chuck was molested before he was stabbed by the ‘fork.’ He knew well enough what happened. Knew he was pushed down and bitten. He could still taste the blood on his tongue.

“I know,” he said, the sound muffled.

His dad sighed. “Okay. You awake then?”

 _I was never not._ “Yeah.”

“You need me to help get dressed.”

“No. Are we… going soon?”

“Yes, just as soon as it gets a little darker. Do you need me to pack for you?”

Chuck lifted his head now, rolling from the bed. He stood on shaky feet, feeling faint. Like fever aches and weakness that would never end. “No. I can. But you have to get my trunk.”

“Sure thing, sprog,” said Herc, leaving the room. Max was still sitting on the floor where he was left, and Chuck looked at him.

“You can move,” he said.

The dog regarded him, and Chuck felt his mind go strange again with irritation.

_“Move.”_

With a snort, Max got to his paws, shook himself out, and trotted out the door. Probably to go beg to get out into the backyard.

It was hard to move across the room, to choose clothes he wanted to wear, and what he wanted to pack. Everything was exhausting. Chuck was so tired of feeling weak all the time, like something wasn’t quite right with him.

Running out of energy. Chuck was starting to wonder how long it would take for him to die, if he wasn’t able to get well again soon.

**

 

Herc had been returning with the trunk when he’d heard Chuck speaking in the room to Max. He’d frozen a moment, because Chuck’s voice became dark, deeper. Menacing. So unlike his boy. But then the dog trotted out and passed Herc like he hadn’t a care in the world.

He remembered all too well Chuck being afraid of the dog, like he was going to hurt it. He’d dwelled on it, ever since the night before, remembering how close Chuck had been to attacking a cat a few weeks ago.

Herc shook his head. His son wasn’t like that. It was PTSD. He knew well enough what it could do to a person. Had it himself, presenting in its own way. He’d never been violent though.

“I’m coming in,” said Herc, walking into the bedroom.

Chuck was half dressed, and it made Herc’s heart ache to see him. Skinny, deathly pale. Each freckle stood out in sharp contrast, and when Chuck stretched his arms up his shoulder blades jutted unnaturally. It wasn’t that long ago Chuck was captain of the rugby team, and one of the strongest boys on it.

Turning after a moment, shirt dropped, Chuck looked from the trunk to Herc. For a second Herc thought his eyes looked funny in the light. But then Chuck blinked and they were normal again.

_I need to get more sleep._

“Max took off?”

“He probably needs to pee,” said Chuck.

It hurt, watching his boy labour to take folded clothes and bring them to Herc. But he refused to help until Chuck really needed it or asked. His boy needed to move, to get his strength up.

Clothes, comic books, a few games, and a package of medication that made Herc’s mother’s collection of uppers and downers look small and sad in comparison, all went into the trunk. Herc sealed it for him, and gave Chuck a little pat on the back.

“You need a minute?”

Chuck just gasped. “Yes.”

“Water?”

“No. Not thirsty. Had some…”

Herc sensed a lie, but didn’t say anything. Chuck could hardly keep down water. So far they’d ruled out cancer of all kinds and genetic disorders, but still Chuck couldn’t drink or eat. Maybe the fresh air might bring his appetite back.

There was a knock at the door. Herc stood, hefted the bag.

“You just rest. I’ll come get you when it’s dark.”

Chuck nodded, making no reply.

Downstairs the knocking persisted, and now Max was wuffing at the bottom of the stairs, trying to alert them without being noisy. Herc leaned down and gave him a pat on the way by, before opening the door.

He frowned at once, to see one of the detectives there.

“What did I say about coming onto my property?” Herc grunted, shoving past her and walking for the ute.

“This is the property of the air force,” she replied, following.

“Detective Blake, I don’t have time for this. My son and I are leaving.”

“So I heard last night,” she said coolly, watching Herc put the bag in the back seat with their things.

“So you know you can jog on too,” said Herc. “I’ve more use for a bullet to the head than you.”

“Mr. Hansen…”

“Shut it.”

“We at the station were just concerned about you taking your son to Scott Hansen. A man known and convicted for illegal drug use.”

“A bit of puff is hardly-”

“We could have you detained here.”

“No, you can’t. Not in Chuck’s best interests. The doc’s already signed off on it, and I explained the situation. The puff is for Scott’s pharmaceutical use. He’s got chronic pain, since he took a load of shrapnel in the gut saving sorry arseholes like yourself.”

She soured a bit. “We’ll be watching, Mr. Hansen.”

“If I catch you,” warned Herc, and the detective narrowed her eyes, “I’ll be putting a court order on you.”

He snapped the ute door shut and advanced on her. He never liked using his size to try to intimidate anyone, let alone a woman, but now he needed her gone. For some reason it was her that took the most interest, and Herc knew for a fact that Blake had a very unsettling effect on Chuck.

“Get. Off. My. Lawn. Or I call the Military Police, and they’re good friends of mine. They’ll show you off.”

Without another word, she turned and headed for her sedan. Herc didn’t move until he’d watched her drive away.

It took a moment to school himself, force a smile onto his face, and head back into the house. Max, who’d been examining the bushes, followed Herc with a little bark, heeling obediently at his left side.

He didn’t go to Chuck’s room until he finished moving things - groceries that would spoil, Herc’s clothes, Max’s supplies. He strapped the dog into the back seat, giving him a pat, before he went to go find Chuck.

He found him still laying on the bed. “Hey kiddo. Ready to go? I’ll let you pick the music.”

“Mm.”

“Can you walk?”

“Yes…”

Chuck got to his feet, swaying some, then he walked towards the door. Herc put the lights out as Chuck passed him.

**

Throughout the whole of the drive, Chuck pretended to sleep. In his head he counted, up and up and into the thousands, deliberate and slow as nearly two hours ticked by.

When he opened his eyes he could see the farm ahead, feeling uncomfortable. He didn’t like it there. Didn’t much care for his uncle, either. It was like Scott never knew how to speak to him, ever since Chuck was small. Too loud, too condescending. Children and even teenagers were a foreign entity to the man.

It was full dark. A single light shone at the house, another about fifty meters away lighting up the yard and the few sheds and the barn. Chuck raised his head from the window, his eyes focusing on minute details.

The farm wasn’t big, but it was surrounded by forest. About half a kilometer away was another farm, one Chuck had never been to but he’d heard Scott complaining about the owner and his dogs before.

They pulled up in the driveway and Chuck stared reproachfully at the porch. Scott was out there with his huge mound of a dog, Brutus. There was a bottle of alcohol on the table next to him.

The only thing worse than an overly-friendly, socially awkward Scott was a drunk one.

The second the ute stopped, Scott was up and the big mastiff was already running for the car, it’s woofs booming and intimidating. Chuck felt his gums itch to see it looking so challenging.

Herc got out of the car, warning the dog off, who stopped short and kept barking. Chuck merely stared through the open door as Scott came up, grinning hugely, and pulling Herc into a hug.

It was the other reason he hated Scott. The looks he gave his dad sometimes. Like dad was somehow his.

It made Chuck growl in his throat, and in the back seat Max whined.

When Scott let go though, he spotted Chuck and came to lean into the cab of the ute. “Heyyyy kiddo! Come on out, welcome to Casa Scott!”

Alcohol wafted on his breath. Swallowing down a sour feeling, Chuck let himself out. The big dog was still busy with dad, so Chuck busied himself getting Max. He wished he could hold the dog, but he was already too big and heavy, and it took everything to help Max safely to the ground.

Brutus spotted him then, and began to do what all other dogs seemed to want to do around Chuck. Snarl, bare teeth. Warn him off. Like they knew something was wrong with Chuck now, like they knew he wanted to hurt them.

“OI! Get your mangey mutt away from my son!” yelled Herc, as Scott started calling Brutus’s name, going around the car. Yanking his collar, like that might do something to a dog that weighed as much as he did.

 _“Stop,”_ he snapped, voice going lower, angrier.

The dog stopped pulling at once, sitting down on Scott’s foot. Whining like a puppy.

“Jesus kid,” said Scott, pushing a hand through his hair, other still around Brutus’s studded collar. “You a dog whisperer or something?”

“Seems to have a way,” said Herc. “You alright?”

“Fine,” said Chuck sullenly, blinking, looking away. He wanted to leave, get away from the two of them. Just him and Max, all alone.

Scott let go of Brutus, who turned and went to the porch, tail between his legs. When Chuck met Scott’s eyes, Scott was staring at him like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. It made Chuck want to use his voice on him, but he kept his mouth shut and in a grim line, eyes dropping again.

“...Well,” said Scott. “If you guys are hungry I got pizzas. They’re the frozen kind, but still good. And ah, I have soup too, if you’d rather that Chuck.”

“Not hungry. I’m going to go look around,” he said, looking at his dad.

His father sighed. “Alright. Don’t go far.”

With a nod, and a look at Max, he turned away and walked off through grass that needed cutting to the out buildings. He didn’t want to be around Scott, or the dog. Didn’t want to see the looks Scott gave his dad when Herc wasn’t looking.

There wasn’t much to the farm. A barn Chuck wasn’t allowed in, a stable that wasn’t used, a quonset with rusty old farm equipment that didn’t run, and a machine shop that Scott used to work on his cars.

He swished through the grass, for once avoiding the barn. Not that Scott minded, but dad would. Scott had given him a giant bag of weed for his last birthday. He’d passed it around to his mates, he remembered. The idea of it now was nauseating.

Instead he went to the edge of the property to look at the trees. Three sides of the little farm were treed in, making the place useless for large livestock, and probably why Scott had gotten such a good price for it.

He leaned against a wooden fence post, closing his eyes. Opening his ears to the night. The wind in the grass and leaves, the sound of Max padding through the weeds snuffling about.

Heartbeats, in the trees.

Chuck’s eyes opened. He felt peculiar again. He felt… hungry.

Something was there, something was close. Something living and breathing with a heartbeat like hummingbird wings.

At first he fought it, sitting in the grass. Willing himself to only listen. He’d been perhaps an hour, maybe less, sitting there. He felt so cold he might die of it, he was so tired of being cold even in the heat, but he still didn’t move as he watched the leaves.

Max got bored after a little while, laying down beside Chuck with a huff. His body was burning hot, and Chuck started thinking of the blood there. How warm the dog was with it, as he reached out and pet Max’s fur.

The warmth made the burning in his throat worse. A burn between hunger and thirst, so strong Chuck couldn’t tell which was which anymore. He was salivating. He was hungry. And Max smelled good.

How easy it would be, to just lean over…

_No._

“Max,” he said slowly, as he toed his shoes off. _“Go back to the house.”_

The dog looked at him before standing, shaking, and walking away.

Chuck listened for a little while before he stood up and, silent as a soft breeze, he walked into the trees.

**

Herc told himself over and over that Chuck would be fine. He didn’t want to be a smothering blanket to the boy, as he watched him disappear into the blackness of the yard, so he let Chuck go to be by himself. He just wished he could shake the mental image of Chuck collapsing alone in the grass.

Instead he busied himself moving their things into the house, and with Scott to help it didn’t take long.

The house was two stories, a squat and tiny thing. The living room had a single couch and a big TV took up the wall with plenty of the latest equipment and games that Herc wondered how Scott afforded.

The rest of the house, though, was furnished by necessity rather than luxury. The kitchen table was old, scratched, the cupboards worn out, and the plates chipped. Herc knew upstairs there was a small master bedroom, a smaller guest room, and a tiny bathroom.

Herc put their things by the stairs before following Scott into the kitchen. There were a few bottles on the counter, all empty, all without labels. On the center of the table was an overflowing ashtray, some cigarettes, mostly roaches.

“Selling moonshine again?”

“Maybe,” said Scott, smiling. “It’s good shit. I hope your boy keeps away from the quonset, the still is in the back.”

Herc sighed. Scott was in too good of a mood. It was indecent, compared to everything Herc and Chuck had been going through at that point. “I’m sure he will.”

The pizza at least smelled good, and he helped himself to a few lukewarm slices before sitting at the small formica table.

“Thanks,” said Herc, taking a bite of the pizza. “Chuck doesn’t really eat, so I forget to.”

“Eat,” said Scott. He was looking out the window, his fingers playing with an unsmoked cigarette. “Poor kid. Maybe the fresh air will help him keep something down.”

He sounded doubtful though, and Herc hated it. Hated knowing what Scott was thinking. What Herc was thinking sometimes, when he let himself. That this was probably Chuck’s last visit.

That Chuck could die here.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he shrugged, toyed with his food, hunger forgotten.

“He seemed kind of distant. You got him seeing a therapist?”

Herc shook his head. “Kid won’t see one.”

“Well, make him,” said Scott. “If the military hadn’t made us see one. Made me see one, after my accident…”

Herc didn’t like thinking about it. They had both quickly climbed the ranks through the RAAF, to the point of joining Australia’s SOCOM unit, and during a mission a shell had exploded on Scott’s Bell Kiowa. He’d barely managed to land it. Barely survived.

“I don’t have the heart to make him, Scott.”

Scott shrugged. He reached for an unopened clear bottle. “Drink?”

“Shouldn’t…”

“Drink. Just one.”

Herc had trouble saying no to Scott. He’d never properly said no when they were kids, letting Scott do as he pleased, and he knew it would happen again.

He ought to say no.

“Alright. One. God knows I could use it.”

Scott grinned at him. “Atta boy.”

He poured a healthy measure for them both into the glasses that were left behind, and Herc took the lesser of the two, raised it, and sipped it. Coughed, because it was like engine degreaser.

“Shit.”

“S’good, yeah?” asked Scott, letting his knee rest against Herc’s. “This is one of my first batches. Been selling better stuff.”

“I’d fucking hope so.” He wished Scott would mind his distance. He’d always been tactile, since childhood. Overly so.

He pushed his glass away, staring at the window, letting Scott talk. He tuned him out so he was almost a drone, adding small affirmations when it was needed.

Sometimes it was nice, not having to talk. To concentrate. But without that, he started thinking about Chuck. About his boy alone in the yard, maybe weak. Maybe collapsed. And it set the cycle over again, fighting the urge to run out and check on him.

It was maybe an hour later when they’d both had a second drink and Scott had finally coaxed some conversation out of him regarding the A-League. Herc was a fan of the Sydney Wanderers and Scott a loyal fan of the Perth Glory, and they had a playful conversation about the last match up where the Wanderers had squeaked a win.

Scott was in the process of telling Herc where to shove it when there was a meek scratching at the door.

They both went, expecting Chuck and finding only Max whining on the front step.

“Where’s Chuck?” asked Scott, as Herc shoved his feet into his shoes and marched outside.

“Keep an eye on Max. He wouldn’t wander off unless something’s wrong,” he called. Herc was trying not to panic, as he walked further into the yard, straining to hear any sort of sound other than the crickets or the wind.

Calling Chuck’s name didn’t seem to help, but he strode off in the direction of Chuck had gone, keeping an eye out. He just hoped Chuck hadn’t gone into the woods and fell down.

He found Chuck’s shoes a few minutes later, sitting by a fence post, and Chuck nowhere in sight.

“CHUCK!” he yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth, listening hard for a reply back.

A frightened rabbit bolted from the trees about thirty meters away from Herc, and a moment later Chuck appeared, following it. He froze, not looking at Herc, merely watching the way the rabbit had gone, then crouched.

Herc breathed a sigh of relief. So Chuck was chasing rabbits. That didn’t bother him so much, he used to do that too as a boy. It was strange, how Chuck found the energy to move about like that, but a relief.

“Chuck,” he said, as he got closer, “you had me worried sick.”

With a jerk of a movement, Chuck looked up then, like he was only just aware he wasn’t alone. For a second Herc was sure he’d caught a glimpse of purple in his eyes, but then his attention shifted.

Chuck’s lips, chin, and nose were covered with something dark. There was more on his shirt.

“Jesus Christ, Chuck, did you fall?” he crouched, reaching out to touch him, but Chuck rocked back out of reach, shifting through the grass maybe a little too agilely for a sick boy. “I’m not going to hurt you, sprog.”

There was no doubt about it, though. It was blood.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little shorter than the others... but it felt like a good spot to end it.

Chuck felt like he was sleepwalking. He wasn’t sure who or what he was, as he put one foot in front of the other. But he felt almost warm. Felt almost right, as he made his way through the trees after the fluttering sound moving just ahead.

He stopped, watching a rabbit bounce away from him. His eyes followed the movement of its muscles beneath its fur, the bunch and flex of its haunches. He crouched, still watching, head tilted. 

Just before he bolted after it though he realized he wasn’t alone. 

When they reached for him he jerked away, and he let out a tiny warning growl as he backpedaled across the grass. 

This one smelled good. Better than good. It made his mouth water, his throat ache, and even though he was full he  _ wanted  _ him.

“Chuck?”

Chuck blinked, remembering his name. Himself. 

_ Where am I? _

The memories of the woods were blurry things, as he came back to himself. Whatever he’d been doing was gone. All he knew now was that he was full, his fingers had warmth.

He blinked, looking up at Herc, and started to tremble. “Dad?” He had no idea what had happened, since Max left. He had no idea, just that he was covered in something sticky. He licked on reflex and the taste was good. So different from food. It was something real, and he wanted more.

He lifted his hand and licked his palm before contemplating the white stripe of skin through the red.

“Hey, don’t do that,” said Herc, “don’t. What happened? Did you trip? Get a nose bleed?”

“ I…” He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think so. This wasn’t blood. This was  _ food. _ “ I guess.” He didn’t know how to explain it, and let his hand drop.

“Come on, let’s get your shoes and go back in, get you cleaned up,” said Herc, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

Chuck liked the contact. It was warm, made him feel good. He took a few tottering steps next to his father before he fell, hitting the grass with a little sound. His head swam, and he was confused. His body was telling him he should be better, why wasn’t he?

“Jesus, Chuck,” he heard his dad say under his breath, and Chuck rolled, holding his arms out as Herc reached down.

He was lifted like he barely weighed a thing, and he pushed his face into Herc’s neck, spreading blood there. He could feel his pulse under his lips,  _ thump thump thump, _ and it made him ache all over.

Instead of biting though, he licked up the blood, made a little sound of need as his dad righted him on the grass. He wasn’t supposed to like the taste.

“What…?” Herc asked, stepping back, his face flushed. He was looking at Chuck funny now. “What was that for?”

“What was what for?”

Herc swallowed. Chuck followed the line of his throat. “Nothing…”

Together they made their way back to the house. The light was still on when they got there, and Max came running out, yapping up a storm. Brutus, however, took one look at Chuck and disappeared with a swish of his whip thin tail.

Scott came out onto the grass as they approached, he had a flashlight. Chuck made a soft hissing sound under his breath, as it found his eyes, and he held up his hand to make it go away.

“Jesus Christ, what happened here?”

“Nothin’ but a nosebleed, Scott,” said Herc. “I’m going to get Chuck cleaned up. We may as well all go to bed.”

Looking apprehensive, Scott turned and went back to the house, leading the way. Chuck watched his neck too. It didn’t look as nice as his dad’s. But it still looked appetising in all the wrong ways.

Scott paused on the threshold, looked back at Chuck and sighed. “Not exactly the welcome I wanted but, come in and make yourself at home kiddo.”

The house smelled stronger. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of burnt vegetation, alcohol, dog. Scott’s scent permeated everything. Even the smell of pizza did nothing for him. But his dad… he tilted his head, ignoring his blood smeared mouth, and sniffed his shoulder.

Herc gave him another look for that, before nudging him towards the narrow staircase. 

Leaning on the railing, Chuck climbed. Behind him Scott and dad were talking, but he didn’t listen much as he found the bathroom and let himself in.

No doubt about it, he was covered with blood. Chuck fought the urge to lick his hands, suck at his shirt, as he peeled it off and dropped it in the garbage can. Instead he ran the water warm and started to splash himself, turning the water pink.

His father appeared a moment later, leaning in the door.

“You okay kiddo?”

“Okay,” said Chuck, washing the last of it away.

“Nose hurt?”

“Nah.”

“We’ll take you in to get looked at all the same, since it’s a new symptom.”

Chuck rankled a bit at that. He didn’t want to go to the hospital. He was done with hospitals, he was done with their needles, and the clueless doctors who couldn’t even tell him what was wrong. “I tripped and fell. Bumped my face.”

“You’re not cut…”

“I tripped and fell. Hit a rock.”

Herc sighed and took Chuck’s arm, giving him a gentle tug. “Alright. Let’s get you to bed, sprog.”

“I don’t need help, old man,” he muttered.

“I think you do,” said Herc, when he stumbled. “Come on.”

The bedroom was small and musty. Nothing happened in there, clearly. Scott hadn’t dusted in ages, and the bedspread looked the same as it did the last time Chuck was there. It was possible he hadn’t even changed the sheets.

Herc left him alone to go get their things, and he looked around the room as Max explored. The wood panelled walls were the same, but Chuck found his eyes picking up sharper detail now in the grains. The dust motes swirled in little universes, and he lay back on the bed to watch them, to reach a hand up to swirl them.

Opening his mouth, he could taste everything. Max, Scott, Herc, the dust, the world around him was alive.

The door opened but Chuck didn’t look right away. He could taste Herc on the air in sharper detail and drew a breath in through his nose. His dad smelled so…  _ good. _

He tilted his head to watch him put down their duffel bags. 

“Do you think you can be happy here, until I get a new place?” asked Herc, as he took out Chuck’s sleep-things.

“Dunno.”

“I know you have trouble sometimes here, but I’ve got no where else to go. Your gran doesn’t want us up in Melbourne. So Scott’s…”

“I know.”

Chuck had heard the spiel too many times. Heard Herc say some nasty things about his grandparents too, because Herc suspected it had less to do with grandpa and more to do with gran not wanting the hassle.

He sat up after a moment, taking his things from his dad. Listening to him ramble, because it seemed to make him feel better to talk than to say nothing at all sometimes. Even if they  _ could _ say nothing, and still understand each other.

He hated his dad sometimes, but he loved him. Too much.

Like now, his breath catching as Herc pulled off his shirt. Chuck had seen Herc naked plenty of times, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with. Seeing his massive arms, his tattoos. The movement of his back muscles as he stretched.

For the first time since the accident, Chuck felt his dick twitch. Embarrassed, he covered himself up and looked straight down as his father undid his belt buckle.

“...And that’s about that. What do you think?”

Chuck shrugged, wondering what to do.

“You need help?”

“No!” he looked up, mortified, and started to wiggle out of his clothes. “No, no. Just. I dunno. About everything.” 

He got dressed staring at the ground, and curled into the bed at once to avoid looking at Herc. It wasn’t fair that he was so confused like this, so messed up. Why did he have to be the stupid teenage boy with a crush on his own father? He was too old for things like that. Too sensible.

Herc continued to pad about the room. He cooed at Max and fed him, unpacked their things a little bit. And by the crinkle of metal, Herc must be taping foil to the windows. Chuck knew what was coming, though, when he heard the rattle of the pill bottles. The thought of the unpleasantness he was in for and the little time he’d had helped him calm down.

He sat up slowly, blushing internally to see his dad was still topless, but a little colour did manage to rise to his cheeks.

He took the handful of pills from Herc. He preferred to take them without water, because he’d throw that up. Instead he typically just sucked them until they were paste. This time, however, when his dad turned he pretended to toss them in and instead leaned back, making sucking motions as he pushed his hand under his pillow.

He  _ did _ feel better, because of the woods. He wanted to go back, even if it was out of the question until tomorrow night.

“You sleep well okay sprog?” said Herc, pausing at the door. “I’m just a shout away.”

Chuck nodded. The curtains were drawn. He was in darkness, how he liked it.

“Night.”

**

Herc went downstairs, unsurprised to see Scott still up with Brutus and watching TV, the muted sounds of an old Arnold Schwarzenegger film filtering through to him. The two of them seemed to take up the entire tiny living room, and Herc gave the dog a nudge to get him out of the way enough so he could collapse onto the couch.

Scott turned off the TV, looking over at him. “He okay?”

“Yeah. Took his pills, laying down.”

“That was a lot of blood.”

“Said he tripped and hit his face.”

Scott sighed. He looked like he wanted to say something, like he was steeling himself, but a moment later the idea seemed to leave his eyes and he shook his head. “Well I hope he didn’t lose too much blood.”

Nodding, Herc leaned back until he was looking at the ceiling. It was stucco, yellowed from tobacco smoke. Scott really did smoke too much.

They both sat in the silence. At some point, Scott lit a cigarette. Herc ignored the twisting, winding fumes, the scent of it. He just wanted to lay there. Just wanted to sleep. Didn’t know how to tell Scott to naff off and go to bed.

When Scott leaned over to extinguish his cigarette, one hand touched Herc’s knee. Cupped it. Herc tried to ignore it, until Scott squeezed.

“Scott…”

The hand squeezed again, inched higher.

Herc always had trouble saying no.

He looked over at Scott, who was watching him intently. Waiting for some kind of answer. But Herc had finally said no years ago, when they joined the army. Put an end to the things they got up to at night or when their parents weren’t around. Because it wasn’t right, they had become adults and couldn’t fool around like children.

He always wondered if Scott had fallen in love with him.

“I need to sleep,” said Herc finally.

Scott didn’t reply right away, merely stared at him. It took a moment, and he nodded, pulling his hand away and looking disappointed by it.

“You know where to find me,” said Scott, getting up. He whistled at Brutus, who got to his feet and shook himself out, before the two of them left, Scott with a faint ‘night,’ spoken as he turned the corner, leaving Herc with a pillow and a blanket in the dark living room.

He laid back, staring at the ceiling, wondering how his life had become such a train wreck.

**

The next morning Herc got up late after a fitful, uncomfortable sleep. He felt guilty for sleeping in until ten in the morning, but Scott was asleep too, and there was no question that Chuck wouldn’t be up until twilight. He had the place to himself.

It was with a wince that he inspected the refrigerator. Besides apples and a single deeply wrinkled orange, there were no vegetables. But there were eggs and bacon that didn’t look too questionable. The rest of the fridge was bare but for a few take out boxes shoved to the back of the fridge.

He made himself a bacon and egg sandwich with the heels of bread he found in a bag in the freezer, and while he worked he tidied the kitchen a little. Emptied ashtrays, filled the dogs food, washed dishes, wiped the counters.

Outside it was already hot. It was late November, and the morning was probably 30 degrees outside. He contemplated the morning and the empty farm yard as he ate his sandwich and drank a glass of water.

When he was done, Herc did the only thing he could do, to feel like he was in control. Work out. 

He had no weights that he could find, so he did body weight exercises instead - push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and others, until his body was aching in the hot sunlight.

He finished with a short jog around the yard, and even though it wasn’t needed, he went to chop wood, thinking they could have a bonfire that night, that Chuck would appreciate the warmth.

He nodded at Scott, who appeared as Herc rolled a section of a log to the center of the yard. Scott went for his barn, so Herc ignored him. Decided to let him tend to his marijuana plants in peace, as he gathered armloads of thick cut wood and found an axe.

It felt good, lifting and dropping the axe, driving it down. The sun on his naked chest, beating on his back and arms. Sweating, grunting as the wood split. Herc preferred this. Preferred hard, manual labour to sitting around, wasting away. Accepting that Chuck was probably dying.

He had a sizeable pile going when Scott appeared from the trees. He was carrying three dead lumps of fur while Brutus ran ahead, his tail spinning in happy circles.

Herc buried the axe in the slab he was using, wiped off his brow. “Didn’t know you hunted.”

“I don’t,” was the reply. Scott walked alongside him and tossed a corpse at him. Herc caught the dead rabbit, watched it flop in his hand. He looked at it, not seeing anything at once other than a dead body. 

A moment later he noticed the bite. Four little holes, crusted with blood.

“What the fuck?” he asked, pushing fur aside to look at them. “What the hell is this?”

“Exactly, right? It’s almost like a big snake bit it, but then left it. And there’s no swelling, none of the signs of being poisoned. And all four?”

“I only see three,” said Herc, looking at the two in Scott’s hand.

“Brutus ripped the other one up before I could stop him. The pieces are by the barn. I’m telling you man, it’s fucking strange.”

Herc nodded, handing the dead rabbit back.

“Weird bit is, no blood. I mean they’re thin, and when Brutus ripped it up there was nothing. Just a bit of meat.”

Herc held his breath then, processing the strange little bite not unlike had been on Chuck’s neck. The lack of blood. The blood on Chuck’s face.

_ No. It can’t be. _

He swallowed hard. “Very weird.”

Sensing he was being watched, he turned and looked up at the windows.

Chuck was there in the shade of the window, watching. For a moment they were frozen there in time, eyes meeting. Chuck looking so pale and gaunt against the reflection of the glass. So weak, so tired.

Then with a flash, Chuck turned and disappeared, breaking the spell.

_ It’s just a coincidence.  _ He turned back to chopping wood, but his heart wasn’t in it now.  _ Just a coincidence. Chuck’s no psychopath. _

His mind couldn’t help going over the coincidences, as Scott took the dead rabbits to the bins and tossed them away. He had to reason with himself over how weak Chuck was. He could barely climb the stairs, the doctors were sure he was dying of his mysterious illness. 

It took him a little while to stack the wood, and he was burning a little by the time he went back to the house and showered up.

He dwelled on it, on the possible signs of PTSD he knew. Especially what the doctor had said, about kids becoming sexually inappropriate if they’d been molested. Chuck swore up and down he hadn’t been, but…

Herc traced meaningless lines in the steam on the shower door, thinking of his son in the other room.  _ What am I going to do? _

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit of a slow burn. But things will pick up soon, promise

“More dead rabbits, and a dead boomer,” said Scott to Herc. He’d taken to prowling the woods with his rifle now, and he set it down on the narrow mantle over the disused and dusty fireplace.

Herc looked up. He’d been reading on his tablet, typing in Chuck’s symptoms and reading over and over about all the things the doctors swore Chuck didn’t have. It was heartbreaking, seeing all these possibilities and none of them being true, except for the possibility of a new and untreatable form of aplastic anemia.

He put the tablet aside, taking off his glasses, and looked at Scott. The dead animals were strange, and Scott had a bug up his ass about them. Every morning he went to look, and every morning he claimed to find a dead rabbit or two.

“How many this time?” he asked.

“Two rabbits, one baby boomer. Couldn’t be much separated from it’s mother.” Scott went into the kitchen and Herc heard the fridge rattling. Probably looking for a beer.

The place was getting homier, thanks to Herc spending his time cleaning. Less dust, more order. It gave him something to occupy his time with. He’d even dusted off his brothers slow cooker and put some food on, which was bubbling away.

Scott returned with a couple of Toohey’s. Herc took the offered one on reflex and popped it open. He sipped it while Scott chugged it.

“What do you suppose is doing it?” said Herc, probably for the fiftieth time.

“Neighbor reckons it’s an aboriginal playing pranks. Pretending to be some kind of drop bear. There’s a rez not far away, and they hunt in the area.”

“But biting their neck?”

“Stabbing,” said Scott. “Stabbing their neck. No human has teeth like that.”

The thought reminded Herc again of the wounds in Chuck’s neck, now long healed. _Barbecue fork,_ the police had suggested.

Instead of bringing it up, he shrugged uneasily, rubbed the back of his head. “Isn’t your neighbor some raging racist prick?”

“Yeah,” said Scott, after finishing his beer and standing, probably to get another. “Can’t get him to shut up sometimes.”

It took Herc three times as long to finish his beer. Scott was getting tipsy, a show was on TV about sharks, and Brutus and Max were both sitting together in the sunlight while upstairs Chuck slept.

Or did he? Herc had to wonder about that. Sometimes he saw Chuck’s face at the window during the day. He wondered when the boy ever rested.

“What time’s the carpet grub get up?” asked Scott, muting a commercial about cat food and looking over, his eyes bored.

“Oh you know. When the sun goes down. Probably six-thirty.”

“So we’ve got some time then.”

“Maybe forty-five minutes, yeah,” said Herc with a little shrug. “Why?”

Scott shrugged then, and Herc wondered what he was planning. Maybe another proposition. It had been three days, and Herc assumed that Scott had given up. Accepted that the break up was a break up.

Maybe not.

Herc cleared his throat then, finished his Toohey’s. There was more work to be done. He didn’t want to be around tipsy, horny Scott.

Whistling at Max had the puppy plodding along behind him and he went into the kitchen, checked the slow cooker, did a once over clean up after getting rid of his empty can.

Should have known Scott would follow him, really. And Herc tried to keep his breathing even, when Scott’s hand settled very low on Herc’s back.

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” asked Scott, with a little grin.

Herc sighed inwardly, before lifting the lid and giving it a stir. “Famous Hansen Chili.”

“So hot enough to sear my guts,” said Scott in an approving voice. He moved away though, and Herc’s sigh was small but relieved. “We should get drunk tonight.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” said Herc, closing the cooker. Thinking about Chuck, who was so much more of a wraith at this place. Always outside or hiding in his room.

“Oh come on. You all have been here a week, and we haven’t let loose once. Chuck’s seventeen, he’s old enough to be okay for _one_ night while his dad get’s drunk with his uncle and the two of them get up to no good, like old times sake.”

Herc grunted, knowing what he meant. Knowing Chuck would hate him, if that ever became apparent between the two of them.

“Why don’t you put a movie on?” he suggested instead. “I’ll finish up in here.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Herc turned, leaning against the counter. Scott was in his space, in too close for comfort. Herc couldn’t avoid him forever, he knew, and had to give a solid answer but Herc didn’t want to hurt the man who was giving him and Chuck asylum from the world at large.

He sighed, dropping his eyes.

“How do you feel. Actually feel.”

Herc could smell the booze on his breath, knew that was what was making Scott act like that. He was never like this when he was completely sober.

Before he could respond though Max made a sound of happiness. They both glanced at the doorway to see Chuck standing there, earlier than he usually showed himself, looking between the two of them with a pinched expression on his face. He looked almost hungry for something.

“What are you two doing?” his tone was accusatory.

“Nothing. We were just talking,” said Herc, putting his hand on Scott’s chest and pushing him away. “How are you doing?”

Still looking suspicious, Chuck leaned over and scooped up Max. It was amazing how in the last week he’d become stronger. Not ideal, he still struggled to keep food down and moved slowly, but he had the strength to lift things. To go for long walks at night. “I’m okay,” he said, walking into the kitchen.

“I’m making your favourite,” said Herc, watching him.

Chuck merely shrugged, going to sit by the porch door where he usually lurked until the sun went completely down, his face pressed against the glass and watching the outside like he was a bird trapped in a cage.

It was damn strange.

Herc served them all a bowl at the little table. Chuck didn’t touch his, merely held the bowl like it might warm his hands, and he stared at it like he wasn’t completely sure what he was meant to do with the chili.

He tried to hold conversation, though, to make it feel like a family dinner.

“Do you want to watch a movie with us Chuck? Your uncle has all kinds to pick from. You can choose.”

The boy shook his head. “No. I’ll go outside soon.”

“You should stay in maybe,” said Scott, looking at Chuck with something like distaste. “For one night.”

Chuck’s eyes flickered at that. “No, I don’t want to. I like it outside.”

Not knowing what was going on between the two of them, Herc cleared his throat. “He’ll do what he likes.” If it was helping Chuck get healthier, Herc wasn’t about to stop Chuck from going out and getting a decent stretch and some fresh air.

“Try and eat?” he asked.

Chuck looked down at the food, shook his head, and pushed the bowl onto the table. “Later. I’m going outside now. I won’t be far.” He stood, whistled for Max, and disappeared through the sliding door and out of sight.

Feeling defeated, Herc pushed the food around with his spoon. He missed the days where Chuck was less emotionless and more of a firecracker. He didn’t seem like himself anymore at all. Like if he just found that _one thing_ he needed, maybe he’d come back. Be Herc’s boy again.

“He’s acting strange,” said Scott.

Herc snorted, a weak little laugh.

His brother gave Herc a funny look. “I mean it Herc. And not in a PTSD, not quite there thing. I mean he’s really, really strange. He’s obsessed with outside, he’s always gone for hours.”

“What’s your point?” asked Herc, playing with the bowl and plate he had in front of him. Anything to give his hands something to do..

“Well. Do you think it’s Chuck? With the animals, I mean?”

Herc froze, unable to speak, his brain trying to work over what his brother had just dared to say. How could Scott say something - anything - like that?

“I just say it because the wounds are the same. And he does act kind of weird with Brutus. I mean the dog is terrified of him. And… I dunno. All those animals, ever since you got here, Herc.”

Even though he’d been thinking some of the same things, even if he knew deep in his heart Scott was right, it didn’t stop his hand moving, picking up the plate. He didn’t even try to stop himself, as he shattered it over Scott’s head.

“You shut it about my boy!” he said, hand gripping the last shard in his palm, fingers twisting for a better grip. “You just shut up about what you don’t know! He’s fine, alright?”

Scott reacted at once, grabbing Herc’s arm and twisting it, pinning him to the table, twisting until his muscles and bones ached under Scott’s fingers. “Fine? _Fine?_ That kid used to be all piss and vinegar, mate! Now what is he? Look at him! Gaunt, pale, always alone like an animal waiting to die. He’s fucking _sick,_ Herc. He needs _help.”_ Scott was wiping at the blood with his other hand, smearing it over his forehead. Herc could fight him if he wanted, but the action had sucked everything out of him. “You need help too. You’re in fucking denial.”

Maybe he was. He broke Scott’s grip all the same, giving him a shove.  “My son is not killing animals. He’s not a fucking sociopath.”

“Alright. Alright fine, maybe he’s not, and it’s just a coincidence. But you have to admit, Herc, he’s not the kid he was. And you’re not the man _you_ were.”

There was a heavy pause as they stared at each other. Scott was just trying to help, but Herc didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to think about how his boy was dying. Couldn’t eat. How he was suffering PTSD. Didn’t want to hear about how he was just letting it all compound without a fight because all he wanted was for Chuck to be safe and happy.

“Dad?”

Herc turned, his face going pale. _How long has he been there?_

Standing at the door, Max at his feet, Chuck was watching the two of them with the strangest hungry look on his face. His eyes were glued on Scott, who was mopping at his head with paper towels. Chuck looked like he was a cat ready to spring.

“Go back out, Chuck,” said Herc.

“No,” said Scott. “We should talk about this like fucking adults, Herc.”

“Funny, coming from _you,”_   said Herc.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” asked Scott, hand dropping, blood smeared all over his forehead, dripping down his chin.

Chuck let out an almost cat-like sound of anger that chilled Herc down to the bone. He couldn’t say why, just that it made him feel less like the apex predator and more like he was the prey. He was breathing heavily, still staring at Scott. He’d moved forward a foot, and Herc noticed he had no shoes on, that his foot was raised like he was ready to jump.

He reached out for Chuck, to try to shake him back to reality, when the boy took a deep gasp of air and turned, running into the darkness with more speed and agility than Herc would have given him credit for.

“CHUCK!” he called, heading for the door, but Scott’s hand found his arm and tugged backward.

“Wait,” said Scott. “We’re talking. You’re letting the kid have a breather.”

“He might-”

“He’ll be fine. Cut the apron strings. Sit.”

Scott shoved Herc down into his chair before he picked up a wad of napkins from the take-out bag. He pressed it to his forehead, and he picked up a clear bottle from the counter and set it down between them.

“This is a shitty idea.”

“Oh lighten up,” said Scott. “You need to relax. This is the best way I can think of how. Have a few drinks, give the kid some time. And maybe you’ll sleep tonight and think things over. Realize what I’m saying isn’t entirely impossible.”

“Look,” said Herc, slumping in the chair a little, “I’m sorry. I can’t just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Scott.”

Scott pulled the napkins away, studied the blood, and put it back. “Acceptance is the first step, I think. Read that in a pamphlet.”

Herc was willing to bet it was a Narcotics Anonymous thing, but said nothing as his eyes went down to the bottle on the table. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he wasn’t a lightweight either.

“And you know, maybe we can find someone Chuck to talk to,” he continued, getting up and washing his face in the sink. “The army’s got shrinks, I’m sure they can help.”

“I already told you he won’t see them.”

“Alright, fine, whatever,” said Scott. “At least switch off for a few hours, alright mate? Chuck’ll be fine. He needs time, and so do you. And it’s not like you’ll get so fucking wrecked you can’t help out. Half a joint and maybe you won’t be ready to smash people with plates.”

Herc winced, but Scott smiled at him. He was pouring two glasses.

Herc always had trouble saying no.

**

Chuck had heard it all, about the dead animals. About what Scott thought of him, and it was tearing him inside. Everything he was afraid of was true.

Max was left long behind as Chuck raced through the yard. The grass was soft and wet under his bare feet, sandals lost behind somewhere, and the night felt cool and welcoming. Welcoming in the way the house wasn’t.

He couldn’t stop thinking of the blood either. The blood on his uncle’s face, red and wet and dripping. The scent of it, making him burn. His body felt strange, shaky. And now he felt like he might twist right out of his skin with restlessness, with need. His mouth was _watering._ He couldn't explain it, he'd wanted to attack Scott. Not only for him daring to touch his father, but because he smelled so appetising.

He jumped the fence with ease, soaring through the air, and landed on all fours. He froze, sniffing the air, before glancing back behind him, blinking once or twice.

He was something Else now.

With a growl he pulled his shirt off, tossing it aside, and moved towards the line of trees. Behind him he heard Herc call his name but he ignored it, loping along a little faster now.

His gums started to hurt when he heard the heartbeats waiting for him. He felt so strange, so powerful, as his muscles coiled in his legs and he leapt catlike into the trees, soaring and catching at branches, dragging himself up, crouching on them.

He was about ten feet off the ground, clinging like a koala as he listened to the movement down below.

Rabbits galore, of course. But they weren't good. Chuck could also hear bats, opossums. A quoll, hunting below. The world was interesting like this, and Chuck didn't want to let go of it and return to reality.

He dropped to the ground and began to prowl. His gums didn't hurt anymore, his teeth were sharp now. He had no concept of the time, didn't care. He just wanted further and further away from the house, from where Scott was and the scent of his blood.

As Chuck passed, the animals went silent. As if it would help them.

He found the edge of the next property and crouched, peering through a wooden fence. Not far from where he was, sheep were clustered for the night.

His eyes flickered at one who strayed away. A young ram, full of confidence. Muscles were powerful under its skin as it moved, looking first at the herd, then moving closer to him. Chuck breathed deep the scent of it.

Not right, not as proper as a human.

Chuck bared his teeth anyway and jumped the fence, moving forward whisper silent over the soft hoof-churned earth. The ram didn't notice him right away, until his scent registered. And when it did, turning its head to look around, it was too late.

He growled, a feral sound that was unfamiliar in his throat, and lunged forward.

++

Feeling more normal and grounded than when he fled, Chuck started back to the house. He was full, content, his mind blissed out from his hunt.

He knew he was something else now. Something that wasn’t human. He was strong and agile sometimes, after feeding. He felt better. He could see things, smell things, hear things that he shouldn’t be able to.

He knew it was because of the thing that attacked him. The blood he’d forced in his mouth.

He picked up his shirt and his sandals, plodding over the grass. The house lights were on, but they usually were, and Chuck skirted past them and to a disused, ground fed trough that he could use to wash himself.

The water was cold, the basin a little slimy from minerals and growth, but the blood fell away from his face and chest, leaving him clean and shivering a little in the darkness.

He pulled his shirt back on, his shoes, and went back to the house. He needed to check on Herc, make sure Scott wasn’t trying to touch him again.

Did they think he was stupid? Did they think he couldn’t tell what they’d used to do, and what Scott obviously wanted to do with his father now?

The thoughts and jealousy consumed him as he walked up the worn, creaky stairs and let himself into the house. He could smell burning plant matter, hear snoring. He hoped everyone was asleep now, as he crept through the hall.

His hope was short lived, though.

“Kid?”

It was Scott, still awake in the kitchen. There was a miserable whine from Brutus, a hopeful one from Max.

He turned to look, pausing in a doorway. Across from him and at the small kitchen table was Scott, smoke rising from an ashtray, a half finished bottle of booze in front of him. He looked wrecked, eyes bloodshot, dots of red along his nose and cheeks.

“Yeah?”

“You’re walking pretty strong there.”

Chuck said nothing. He was about to turn and walk away when there was the rumble of a chair across linoleum and Scott was walking forward. He had a joint in his hand, a lighter in the other.

“You’re seventeen, almost eighteen. You can have some of this.” He held it up, pausing a few feet away. “Share something with your uncle. I know you smoke it.”

He had in the past, more than once. He wasn’t sure if he could now, if it would do anything at all. His eyes flickered up to the cut on Scott’s forehead, crusted over now, then back to his eyes. He and Chuck had the same colour of eyes. “Why?”

“Because I said so,” said Scott. “I want to talk, man to man. C’mon. Your dad doesn’t need to know.”

He thought about saying no, but he knew if he walked away Scott would shout and wake up Herc. He didn’t want that, so he followed instead.

He sat down at the table, slouching some, staring at Scott. Scott didn’t pour him a drink, but he offered the joint and Chuck took it. He didn’t think he ought to breathe it in, so he lit it, sucked on it and drew the hot, foul tasting smoke into his mouth and held it before blowing it out.

Scott seemed to see what he was up to, but he didn’t comment on it as he took the joint back and sucked on it too.

“I take it for the pain,” said Scott. “They never got everything out. Did your dad ever tell you what happened?”

Chuck nodded.

“Probably not all of it. You know doctors, they only remove the threatening parts?” he toked again, and set the joint in the ashtray before blowing out a plume of smoke to the ceiling. “There’s the dangerous stuff and the safe stuff. But the safe stuff, it’s not _really_ safe. It stays inside and cuts you up and always hurts. Makes you lumpy with scar tissue to the point no one wants to fuck you. No one wants to look at you, touch you. And all you are is alone.”

He didn’t know what to say or add, so he merely watched Scott as the man took a drink and leaned back in the creaking chair.

“I think even though you don’t have scars you can sympathize with the pain. Am I right, kiddo?” Scott didn’t wait for an answer though, plodding on. “You always look like you’re in pain, or bracing for it. Like something’s always itching and scratching at you. Like something just won’t go away. Right?”

The pause stretched a moment and Chuck shrugged. “I guess.”

Scott nodded, still puffing away. “Yeah I figured. And your dad doesn’t seem to get that. I know you don’t want help. I don’t blame you. Talking sucks. The only time I can talk is when I’m wrecked.” He put the roach down, blowing the last of the smoke out of his mouth. “Maybe do your dad a favour and talk?”

Another shrug, but this time Chuck was considering it. For dad.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Alright,” said Scott. “And talk about everything. Not just the stuff you figure he’d be okay with.”

Chuck got up from the table at the same time Scott did. He assumed this meant Scott was going to bed, so Chuck headed to the living room to watch Herc sleep awhile. He wasn’t expecting the hand on his arm, or the way his body quivered in response, ready to turn around and break his arm.

Scott shoved him none too gently, right into the wall, and he leaned in.

“And I want you to remember, I’ve got my eye on you, kid.”

He let go before the growl working its way up Chuck’s throat had a chance to pass his lips, and passed without another word, leaving Chuck alone in the hall. 


	5. Chapter 5

“No hospital,” Chuck whined.

Chuck had taken Scott’s warning to heart. He tried not to go out for a few nights. Tried to be a normal boy, to stay in and watch movies with his dad. But those days made him get weaker, returning him to the half-life he’d had before. He didn’t even have the strength to get down the stairs on the third day.

“Chuck,” said Herc, pressing a hand against his head, “you’re getting worse. You need a transfusion.”

“ No,” he said, turning his head to try to get away from the contact. Just the heat of his hand, the promise of blood, was enough to set Chuck’s throat on  _ fire _ , and he felt so cold. “Not today.”

Herc sighed. “In the morning, we’re going.”

Chuck swallowed hard. He didn’t agree, just lay in the bed, staring at the wall.

“You want me to stay?”

_ No.  _ It hurt enough that his dad was so close to him. His scent was driving Chuck half-mad. Max was hard enough to bear.

He had to get Herc out of here.

Chuck had been playing with Max, testing his abilities suggesting things to him, and so far Max was completely responsive. He was loathe to do it to his dad. It felt like taking away his free will. But he needed dad away from him, and more importantly, he needed Scott distracted.

He looked back at Herc, swallowing hard around the pain in his throat, before he sat up. Put his forehead to Herc’s.

Oh, how much he’d craved this close contact in another life. How much he’d wanted his dad before he’d turned into this fucked up… thing.

“ _ Take Max. Go have fun with Uncle Scott. Drink stuff, play X-Box.”  _ His voice was strange, but low and soft as he tried to keep his words gentle. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

Herc blinked, his eyes becoming soft a moment. He looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment he nodded. 

“...Alright. If you’re sure.”

Breathing out a little sigh of relief, Chuck permitted himself to reach up and stroke his father’s lip a moment. “I’m sure.”

Herc nodded, and smiled. His look was dreamy. Chuck knew once he was downstairs he’d be more of himself, and the longer it went on, the less the strange hold Chuck had on him would control him.

When Herc left the room, Max at his heels, Chuck watched the closed door. “I’m sorry, dad,” he murmured, before forcing himself out of bed, resolving not to do it again if he could help it. His dad deserved better than that. Especially with the way Scott behaved around him.

The thought made a growl bubble up behind his lips, and he resolved to get this over quickly and join them. Scott wouldn’t be touching his dad.

_ I’ve got my eye on you too, asshole. _

It took a moment, to force the window open. It squealed, but Chuck paused, listening to the house. No one seemed to take notice of it, there were no footsteps on the stairs, so Chuck used his strength to pull himself up and outside.

The night smelled good.  _ God,  _ he’d missed it. He licked his lips, easing himself down onto the shingles. Just smelling the world outside was enough to return a little strength to his bones, as he walked down the slope of the roof.

Below him was the living room, and the drop a dizzying three meters. He swayed a second, praying he’d land quietly, and jumped.

His legs absorbed the impact and he crouched catlike on the ground. The grass was flickering blue from the light of the TV through the curtains. Chuck glanced over his shoulder once, saw a body walking across the window, before he turned and started to walk across the grass.

His path lead him straight to the woods. He didn’t have the strength to hunt rabbits, but he knew something slow moving. It was making his gums ache as his sharper teeth descended, his body feel stronger, ready to strike.

He shifted over the property line to the sheep pen, eyes on the slower, bigger creatures. He remembered the commotion over the dead sheep. The neighbor coming to the house to complain, having a drink with Scott. Chuck listening at the top of the stairs to their every racist, filthy word about the aboriginals a few miles away.

He bared his teeth as he climbed through the wooden fence and onto the trampled dirt ground, silent. And ready.

**

Herc was working on getting drunk, and he wasn’t sure why. It seemed like the thing to do, sitting here playing some stupid game on Scott’s X-Box that he was losing spectacularly at. So he drank, glass after glass that Scott poured. Herc sensed that the moonshine and coke mixes were steadily becoming more moonshine.

“How the fuck does this thing even work,” muttered Herc, randomly pressing buttons. “This is the most childish thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Scott giggled at him, tilting his head. “Oh come on, Herc…”

“I’m serious,” Herc pushed the controller away. “I need a fag.”

His brother snorted. 

“Now who’s childish. Pass me one.”

“You stopped smoking when you were twenty-three.”

“Unless I drink. C’mon.”

They got up together. Herc’s fingers picked up the plastic cup his drink was in, feeling sort of numb as he brought it to his mouth. He was leaning against Scott, and Scott’s arm was around him, leading him.

They went out onto the deck where it was cooler, quieter. Scott pressed something in his hand, and Herc hardly thought about it as he light up and took a puff.

“Christ, Scott,” he pulled it from his mouth. “I said a fag not a fuckin’ bud o’ herb.”

“Same shit.”

“Isn’t.” Still. For some reason he wanted to enjoy himself. He couldn’t remember why, so he lifted it again, relit and took a few more puffs for lack of anything better. Still, it wasn’t bad stuff. It took him back to his teenage days, though back then it really was about getting high and less about just not feeling helpless anymore. The smell bad, the taste herbal and smoky and everything Herc didn’t want with himself anymore, but he shared it with Scott and that made it enjoyable. Sort of.

“No idea why I used to like this so much,” said Herc, passing it over, blowing smoke out. “Honestly it’s pretty foul.”

“Oh let up,” said Scott, laughing.

In the distance, the neighbours sheep started to bray loudly, like they were panicking over something. “You got dingos here?” he asked, listening hard to the way they were starting to really raise a clamour. “Damn sheep aren’t going to let us sleep tonight.”

“Mm, sometimes we get dingos,” said Scott, “but the neighbour, Thompson, usually takes care of ‘em.” He didn’t seem fussed about the sheep.

“I bet he takes care of ‘em,” said Herc, amused, watching Scott take a hit. “Bloke’s probably pulling his zipper down right now.” He had to wonder why things couldn’t always be like this with Scott. Maybe less irresponsible like they were being right now, but relaxed. Joking. Everything they ought to be as brothers and weren’t.

Herc ought to say no, when Scott leaned in, pressing the joint to his lips. Herc held the joint in his lips as Scott put his arm around him, leaning in close enough to kiss.

When Herc breathed out, Scott inhaled, breathing in the second hand smoke. Scott pushed their lips together a moment. Herc hadn’t shotgunned with anyone since Scott, back in high school, and he was really taken back now.

It was with a certain amount of muscle memory that when Scott’s lips pressed to his in a kiss, Herc kissed back. He tasted like alcohol and smoke, something else that shouldn’t be so familiar.

Scott pulled away first. “I can think of ways to sleep tonight, big brother. Something nice, to forget everything. Work out the tension you’re feeling.” Herc tried to draw in a breath, step away, but Scott was leaning in even closer. “Wouldn’t you like to have little brother sucking your cock? You know I used to do it so well…”

“My kid’s around, Scott,” said Herc, coming back to himself. Remembering what was right and wrong. How Scott probably loved him, and Herc didn’t love him in the way he wanted. “My kid. I can’t do that to him. He just lost his mum. Can’t have him finding me with you. He’ll hate me. He’s everything, Scott.”

“He’s in bed,” said Scott, his hand sliding down. Herc tried not to groan as Scott palmed him through his jeans, leaning in to take more kisses from Herc. He had to say no, it burned behind his lips, but Scott’s kisses stopped each one, and the urge to keep the peace was fighting so hard with what he knew was right. “It’ll be fine, he won’t even know.”

Herc cleared his throat. “Scott, stop-”

Scott leaned in then, fast. His lips forced Herc’s apart and his tongue slipped into his mouth. He seemed upset about something, frustrated. Probably waiting for Herc to just let go.

“I want big brother to fuck me again,” he said, nipping his lips, and Herc felt himself getting hard against his own wishes. 

He didn’t want to. He’d broken off things for a reason. Scott’s jealousy, them growing up, growing beyond the fooling around. What they had wasn’t love, and on Scott’s side he was scared of an obsession. When he was younger, Herc enjoyed the familiarity, being with someone he’d known his entire life, but he wasn’t really attracted to Scott anymore.

“S’not like the house is big. S’not like you’re quiet in bed,” said Herc. “He’ll hear. He’ll know.” He knew it was wrong, using Chuck to get out of it instead of just saying he didn’t want it, but he couldn’t stop it slipping out anyway.

Scott kissed him again, his hands getting rough. Herc felt himself getting aroused against his will, hated every second of it as he let Scott kiss him. “I’m high, Scott. So are you. You don’t want to fuck, you’re just high.”

“All the more reason to fuck,” urged Scott, his hand moving to Herc’s waistband. Herc’s hand found his, trying to keep it still. “C’mon, please, Herc-”

The sound of a gunshot made both of them stiffen in surprise, and they turned to look towards the neighbor’s place as both dogs began to bark and howl in protest.

“Whatever it was must’ve gotten too close,” said Scott, pulling away. “Probably just a dingo.”

The sound made Herc focus. He stepped away from Scott entirely, thinking about Chuck upstairs. Probably frightened from the sound.

“I’m going to check on Chuck,” said Herc, “tell him it’s okay.”

Scott looked at him, disappointed. “Are you going to come back down?”

“To go to bed, yeah,” said Herc. “I’ve had enough of getting shitfaced, I think.”

His brother looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “Whatever, Herc.” He lifted the bud and relight it.

Herc left him like that, stumbling up the stairs. Feeling completely guilty for letting himself get so far with Scott. He thought maybe Scott’s hands and lips might have left glowing beacons on his skin, so much so that Chuck would know without a doubt what they’d been getting up to.

He knocked on Chuck’s door before opening it. “Chuck, it was just a gunshot-”

The room had taken a scent on, stuffy and dusty and a lot like Chuck, since his boy had started staying there without opening the window. Now thought it was fresh, and a breeze blew across his face.

His eyes went to the bed, expecting Chuck, but the covers were crumpled, no one was there.

“Ch-Chuck?”

He checked the closet, the nooks and crannies. Chuck could hardly move, he couldn’t have gone out the window. So Herc ran into the hall, calling his name. Checking Scott’s room, closets. Anything.

He came out onto the porch, looking at the night, his heart starting to pound in his chest. “CHUCK!” he screamed, walking down the steps.

“Woah,” said Scott, “he’s not in his room?”

“No he’s fucking not! He must have sneaked out when - on the X-Box, or something,” Herc pulled at his hair. “I’m going to go look for him.”

“I’ll go stop that trigger-happy moron,” said Scott. Herc glanced back once, to see Scott pick up his rifle. He had a funny look on his face, like he was trying to work something out, but Herc turned away and ran instead.

**

Chuck had his mouth clamped over a vein, his arms crushing around the body of the sheep. He was trembling with every swallow as warmth started to radiate from his chest, his stomach. His thirst-hunger was not-quite sated as he drank, but so much better. It made Chuck moan as the sheep quivered in its dying throes. Around him the others were panicking, huddled in a group against the fence.

His ear twitched, when he heard a yell. He’d barely let go of the sheep’s neck, watching a bubble of blood pop and pepper the sheep’s wool, when he heard the sound of a shotgun being cocked.

He cocked his head to look, his eyes picking the neighbor farmer out clearly despite the bad light. The end of the shotgun, pointed for him.

Chuck bared his teeth and hissed.

He was moving at the boom of the shotgun, which made the ground at his feet explode in a cloud of dirt. He was panting as he ran for the fence. He leapt it with ease, as the shotgun boomed again and the wood exploded next to him.

He was already in the woods though, running whisper-silent, feeling strong for the first time in days.

When he thought he’d gone far enough he stopped, skididng in the undergrowth. His shoulder was burning and he turned his head to look at it with a little growl.

A chunk of wood protruded from it, sending a trickle of dark blood down to his elbow. With a grunt and a wince, he pulled the piece of wood from his shoulder. It burned, feeling like it was digging in as it was coming out. He’d have to pick splinters from his wound, and the pain of it made him sag against the tree, burst of strength ebbing away.

Why wasn’t animal blood working?

In the distance, he could hear Herc coming. He had a choice. Wait, let his secret come out, or hide. His father was crashing closer and closer with every step.

**

Scott took the road to Kieran Thompson’s place, Brutus on his heels, panting like this was a fun new adventure. They didn’t interact much, Kieran and Scott, beyond the occasional drink and bullshit session. Kieran and his wife kept to themselves, Scott to himself, and he preferred it that way.

He got to the driveway and saw lights on in the house, spilling into the yard. In the distance the sheep and goats were kicking up a fuss.

He raised his gun, when Kieran heard the sounds of his footsteps and swung around with his shotgun raised.

“Oi! I’m here checking up,” said Scott, pointing his own straight back.

With a sneer, the old man dropped his gun. “Can’t be too careful.”

“Dingos?” asked Scott, looking around for evidence of them, or a dead body. Beyond Kieran, in the corrall, the sheep were huddled and a dead body lay in the center of the paddock.

“No. A fucking yowie.”

Scott blinked. “Really? You think you saw an honest to god yowie?”

“What the hell else could it be?” spat Kieran. “No fucking abo’s got purple, glowing eyes.”

Kieran had to be on something stronger than Scott was, thinking he saw something like that. A  _ yowie. _ He’d heard aboriginals talk about the ape-men before but they were just stories, nothing to be bothered by. 

“How big?”

“Small,” said Kieran, the word making Scott go cold. “Smaller than a full grown man. Jumped the fence with hardly a running jump.”

“Right,” he said, feeling uneasy. “Let’s see the body then.”

Together the two of them walked into the paddock together, Brutus on one side, Kieran’s sheep dog on the other creeping towards the flock to keep them at bay.

The ground was churned up, making it impossible to see footprints in the light of Scott’s torch. He shone the light on the dead ewe though, leaning over it. With the tip of his gun, he lolled the head to the side, revealing a bloody throat like all the other animals.

“Like the last one then,” said Kieran. “It’s gotta be some kind of yowie. Nothing just bites the neck and drinks blood like that.”

Scott just nodded. The killings had stopped for a few days. Chuck had grown weaker. Chuck breaks out, something attacks the sheep…

He knew, already, that Chuck would be strong when he got back, as he pulled the barrel away.

“Or someone playing a joke.”

“Sick joke. Fucking serial killer, more like.”

“Yeah,” said Scott, absently. “Yeah…”

**

Herc was heaving as he crashed through the trees. He was running without true direction in the darkness. Stupid, but he was drunk and panicked and didn’t know what to do. His boy might be hurt, might be  _ dead,  _ somewhere in the bush.

He tripped, sprawling in the undergrowth, skinning his hands and arms as he slid a little ways in the loam and among the branches. Somewhere nearby, something bounced away like Herc had really startled it.

He swallowed hard, pushing himself up to take stock of where he was.

“CHUCK!” he called, cupping bloody hands to his mouth.

“Right here,” came a soft reply, a few moments later.

Herc turned as quick as he could, scanning the darkness. Chuck became aparent a second later, stading mildly to one side against the trunk of a tree. Like so many times, Herc thought his eyes must be playing tricks on him. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket, raising it on torch-mode, and as Chuck winced and looked away he saw a flicker of purple.

“Baby boy?” he rasped, getting to his feet. In the stark white light he could see Chuck soaked with blood. He had no shirt or shoes, his mouth, chin, throat and chest were streaked with blood, tufts of something like wool sticking to the gore.

His own heart beating too quick in his chest, feeling cold all over, he took another step. “Are you okay?” His boy’s safety was his main concern, whatever he might have done came next.

Herc had more experience with PTSD than anyone would ever want or need, and he knew some people from the RAF that reacted to trauma’s they’d been through with violence, but Chuck’s behavior wasn’t anything he’d dealt with. It reminded him more of sociopaths you watched on documentaries about Australia’s most horrifying crimes. It didn’t change, though, that Herc would rather have Chuck alive and wanting to kill animals than helplessly watching him die. It did give rise to the question of how Chuck even found the strength to attack something like a sheep.

_ Or rabbits, a kangaroo. _

“Chuck, what happened?” He stepped closer again, trying to catch a look at his eyes again. He’d seen too many flashes of purple to accept that it was just a hallucination.

Looking down at his hands, Chuck started to wipe at his mouth. The act seemed like it was meant to clean himself, but then Chuck started licking at the streaks of blood he left on his bare forearms like he couldn’t help himself. It made Herc’s stomach ache just to see.

“Dad?” he said, the sound soft and frightened.

“Chuck…” Herc was feeling lightheaded, as he made his way over, dropping his phone in the loam. His hands came up to cradle Chuck’s face, wiping away some of the drying blood. There was something wrong, something unnatural. “Kiddo… what happened?” He wasn’t sure he wanted any answers, but he had to ask. “You had a row with a sheep?”

“Don’t - don’t tell!” said Chuck, wiping at his face again. He looked terrified by something, the look getting worse the more Herc touched him. There was something almost hungry in his eyes.

Herc pulled him in for a hug, and Chuck clung to him, shivering. His breath was hot against Herc’s neck, body trembling. Herc could feel Chuck’s lips against his skin.

“Please don’t tell. The farmer, he’ll shoot me. Please daddy,” the word sent a stab of latent pain through Herc’s chest. Chuck hadn’t called him that since he was seven. “Pretend like I was just out here alone. I didn’t see nothing.”

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, pulling away to look Chuck in the eyes.

“I dunno why I did it. The man who attacked me, killed mum. I think he makes me have bad thoughts. Puts them in my head.”

The idea sent a cold chill through Herc. Afraid, he pulled off his shirt and started to mop at Chuck’s face. It didn’t do much good than smear it around. He wasn’t sure if he could make Chuck look like he hadn’t just slaughtered some animal with his teeth.

There wasn’t any blood on Chuck’s hands.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. Not even Scott. You were away from the Thompson’s place. Heard the shot but didn’t see nothing.” Herc’s voice was shaky, as he dropped the shirt and cupped Chuck’s face in his hands. “Tomorrow, I’ll… do some driving. Find a butcher. You’ve been keeping the blood down, right? I’ll get you more, I’ll get you what you need. Just… don’t go running off at night again.”

Somewhere, Scott was yelling, but it was far off. Distant enough that Herc wasn’t concerned just yet.

“Dad, I think the man that killed mum turned me into a monster,” he said, tugging away from Herc’s hands.

“You’re not a monster,” he reached for Chuck again, “just… sick.’

Chuck jerked from his hand this time. “It’s not just sheep, dad.”

There was a silence between them, something uncomfortable. Scott yelled again and Chuck flinched, leaning in to breathe a kiss against Herc’s lips before disappearing with a soft,  _ bye, _ before the realization had time to grow into something dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun...


	6. Chapter 6

It didn’t take long for Scott to find Herc. Herc was making no effort to chase after Chuck, and instead began moving towards the sound of Scott’s voice. He felt like he was in a dream, a bad one. One he wouldn’t wake up from, no matter how much he wanted to.

_It’s not just sheep, dad._

Did that mean the reason Chuck looked so hungry sometimes - like when Scott was bleeding - was that something about humans made him hungry too? It made him wonder what Chuck was capable of. If he could smell blood.

What the hell was happening to his son?

A beam of light cut through the leaves, illuminating Herc’s face, and he winced, shielding his eyes.

“Damn… Herc?”

He nodded, gave Scott a grunt, and kept walking. It was the best thing he could do. One foot in front of the other.

“Where’s your shirt? Where’s Chuck?”

That gave Herc pause. What the hell did he say to that? “Found the kid all shook up. Sent him back to the house.”

“He could hardly walk. How did he-”

“He’s feeling better,” said Herc shortly, not wanting to get into it. He glanced at Scott, who was looking at him critically. Nothing about what Herc said added up in any way, and now Scott was almost… accusing.

“Right,” he said, lowering the beam. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Ripped it, tossed it.”

“Right.” Quieter now. “How long were you with Chuck?”

“I dunno,” he said dismissively. “How long were you screaming my name?”

“Long enough. Why isn’t he with you?”

“I told you. Found him. He ran off to the house.” Ignoring further questions, Herc started to plow through the trees. He had to get back to Chuck. There were too many unanswered questions, and he had to make sure Chuck was okay. He had to make sure that the whole thing wasn’t some unpleasant illusion.

Scott and Brutus were following him, but Herc ignored them both as he moved out of the trees and across the yard. The house was like an island of light among the darkness of the farm, and he needed to get there. He was dead on his feet.

Inside the house things seemed so normal Herc hoped it was all a hallucination. First he had to check on Chuck, then he had to find some way to slow his mind enough to sleep.

He could hear Scott behind him, but didn’t bother looking as he headed for the stairs.

“You look like shit, Herc.”

Herc paused, looking back. “So?”

With a grunt, Scott walked forward. “Look, you want to use my bed? I figure that’s long enough on the couch, and we can trade. That way tonight, since you’re so worried, you can be close to your kid.”

It was a stupid idea to sleep in Scott’s bed. It left him open and vulnerable if Scott wanted to try something again but at the same time the couch wasn’t ideal. Herc needed to sleep, needed something dreamless and deep.

“Just for tonight,” he said after a moment. “Can’t do it to you full time, Scott, but I need a few hours sleep.” He was so exhausted he could hardly feel guilty. He just wanted some comfort, if only for a few hours.

Rest meant being able to do some research as well. He had to pretend everything was okay with Scott for now. Deflect later, over Scott’s suspicions between him and his own son. Then he could get some pig’s blood and maybe figure out what the new symptoms meant.

“Just tonight,” agreed Scott. “Go to bed.”

Climbing the stairs was difficult, and Scott’s room was like a bomb had exploded, but the bed was comfortable and soft and Herc lay down with a long groan, covering his face with his hands.

He jumped when the mattress moved and he opened his eyes to see Chuck crawling towards him. The boy was dressed in his sleep things, a pair of too-small boxers and a loose shirt of Herc’s. There was something sensual about the way he crawled, and how his eyes glimmered purple in the poor light.

“Daddy,” said Chuck, and it tugged at Herc’s heart. “I’m warm again. Feel.”

He took one of Herc’s hands, pressing it against his stomach. Each hand was warm, though his fingertips were a little on the cool side, and his stomach practically burned.

“That’s good,” he said, wanting to take his hand away but at the same time, unwilling to stop touching. “You’re feeling better?” When he smiled he felt dizzy, and he had to close his eyes.

“Yeah. You can’t sleep like this.” Chuck dropped his hand, and Herc was about to ask why when he felt hands on his belt.

“Chuck!” he hissed, trying to keep quiet.

“It’s just your belt,” said Chuck, pulling it free a moment later. Herc’s shoes followed, leaving him in just his jeans. “There.”

It was strange, seeing Chuck so confident like he used to be. A little stronger, less pale. It was the highlight of his day, to know his boy wasn’t dying by inches anymore.

“Can you sleep?” asked Herc.

Chuck shook his head. “I don’t sleep anymore.”

Herc didn’t know what to say. When the silence got long, Chuck spread out along Herc’s body, his cool lips finding Herc’s neck in a kiss. Herc knew it should be frightening. The boy killed with his teeth. But instead it was erotic. Something different from Scott. Sweeter, more concrete, and safer. He hated himself for the way his tired body reacted with a jolt of want.

It was wrong though. Chuck used to observe Herc with a detached kind of loathing before the attack. Now he was hugging him. Sensual even. And Herc wanted more. With Scott he always felt uncomfortable, but with Chuck it felt different. More right.

“Tomorrow we’ll get you more… of the stuff you need. I promise. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better.”

“Okay,” said Chuck, pressing another little kiss to Herc’s neck before he pulled away. “Get some sleep, dad.”

Herc blinked, watching Chuck’s eyes glimmer, become a deep purple. He felt himself begin to relax under that stare.

“ _Sleep,”_ said Chuck, and Herc’s eyes closed as everything drifted away, and he thought he felt a kiss to his lips for just a moment before everything went black.

**

Chuck was in his not-sleep stage when he heard the knock. It wasn’t at his door, it was down below, and it brought him out the rest of the way. While he’d had a few nightmares about the one who’d attacked him trying to lure him out again, last night his dozing had been pleasant. He found with the link he could watch his father’s dreams.

They were hard to follow in his deep sleep. Mostly just pictures, memories that he and Chuck shared. One had been a picnic that he, mum and dad had shared last year on the beach, and he watched the three of them swim in the water from the shade of an umbrella.

It was nice, to see that every single dream pictured Chuck in some way.

Curious who’d be visiting, Chuck slipped out of bed. He hushed Max, who whined softly, and left his room, creeping along until he was at the top of the stairs. Max followed quietly, sitting with Chuck, licking his hand. Chuck scratched him as he drew his knees up and listened.

“Why don’t you have some coffee, Kieran. I just made it.”

“Only if you throw a shot of whatever hell-brew you make out back.”

Scott laughed, and Chuck’s ears twitched to hear their footsteps change directions. Slowly, not wanting to be found, he slid a few steps down to peer through the railings.

Kieran Thompson and Scott were at the table now, each with a mug in front of them.

“And no luck with the fucking boys in blue. They say I didn’t see anything. Then what’s been biting all of the animals?”

“Well did you tell them you thought their eyes glowed?”

“Yeah. Hard to fucking miss, that.”

“See. Probably thought you were drunk and didn’t see anything.”

“Fuck you, Hansen. You didn’t see it move. Silent as anything and jumped probably fifteen feet.” He paused a moment. “I’ll admit it wasn’t a Yowie, but damned if it’s not an abo from the rez. Fucking savage.” Thompson took a swig of coffee, smacking his lips. “ _Biting._ Drinking blood.”

“Stabbing,” said Scott. “Stabbing them.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because. Heard of it happening before, to someone. With a barbecue fork.”

Chuck hissed at that, the sound fast and angry. He darted up the stairs before either of their heads could turn.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Probably just Brutus snoring. Look, I’m looking into some things. Don’t worry, we won’t have anymore animal murders if I can help it.”

“You going to hunt it down?”

“And catch it,” said Scott.

“No you won’t,” murmured Chuck, standing up. He thought about going down, interrupting. Maybe scaring Scott a little, since the man seemed to think he knew exactly what was happening. _But you don’t,_ he thought.

The movement, though, made Max yip softly, and both heads turned before Chuck could dart upstairs. Instead he stared through the bannister at them, and they watched back. Confusion, on Thompson’s face. Blatant mistrust on Scott’s.

“I’ll be going, anyway,” said Thompson, standing, picking up his gun, and heading for the door. “Let me know if you find anything.”

“Mmhmm,” was Scott’s only reply, eyes on Chuck. He didn’t move them, not even when the door slammed shut. “Thought you didn’t do mornings.”

“Feeling okay today,” said Chuck, staring right back. Scott looked challenging, and it made something inside of Chuck want to rear up and snap. Instead he broke the gaze first.

“I bet you are. You creep around a lot, you know that?”

“I could say some stuff about you too,” said Chuck, getting up. “I’m going to wake up dad.”

Scott snorted. “And here I thought it’s Herc sneaking into your room, kid,” said Scott, low enough that Chuck wasn’t _meant_ to hear, so unless he wanted a very uncomfortable conversation, Chuck could only blink and move silently up the stairs, saying nothing.

He was moody, as he climbed the stairs. Scott probably knew, or thought he knew, that Chuck was killing the animals too. So Uncle Scott thought Chuck was some kind of psychopath?  Chuck wondered if he was right, as he went into Scott’s bedroom.

Herc was asleep on the bed, breathing deep. Chuck was still holding Herc in his thrall, and if he wanted he could wake him up at any time. Instead he closed the door and climbed onto the bed. It was surprisingly soft and big, compared to most of the used furniture in the home. If Chuck could still sleep, he’d sleep there next to his father.

It looked as if his dad was laying in almost the same position Chuck had left him in. He lay down next to him, half closing his eyes, listening to Herc breathe.

It was strange, being there next to him. Each breath hurt, caused a burning ache of thirst. But he knew he couldn’t bite his dad. He didn’t want to hurt him, no matter how good he smelled. No matter how much he wanted to taste...

Thinking of his scent made Chuck lean in, pressing his lips to Herc’s neck. He sniffed him, taking in the scents, breaking them apart into their notes. He could get addicted to Herc’s scent, his heat. The throb of his pulse under his lips.

Chuck shifted, opening his mouth a little so that he could taste the scent. His skin was so hot, and it made his gums ache, trying to force his teeth out. He brushed his tongue against his neck and shuddered. So _warm._

 _Bite,_ thought a voice in his head, a voice that wasn’t Chuck’s.

He gasped, his hold on Herc breaking in the same moment. Herc turned, making Chuck’s lips drag over his throat, and their eyes met.

“Chuck?” he said, his voice groggy and thick.

“Hey,” he said, snaking away at the same moment Herc’s arm came up, and he was pressed there against his father’s chest.

Not that he minded. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying it until Herc seemed to remember himself and let Chuck keep rolling until they were side by side, breathing in the dim light.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, before Herc’s hand found Chuck’s hair in a slow, lazy caress.

“Were you wanting to bite me?” asked Herc after a moment, and Chuck could feel the tension in his muscles as he spoke.

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

He didn’t want to say yes. He wanted his father to believe that Chuck only craved animal blood. That there was still something good about him, that he wasn’t this evil thing. But it wasn’t true. He hardly even craved the animal blood.

He wanted something else.

“A little.”

“That what you meant, when you said you didn’t just want sheep?”

Chuck nodded, feeling meek. Fearful of judgement.

Herc looked a little afraid, but Chuck didn’t quite smell it on him, and his father’s hand reached up to card through his hair again anyway, setting Chuck a little more at ease. It seemed so easy for his dad to touch him like this. Like he didn’t know Chuck’s struggle.

“We’ll figure this out, Chuck. We’ll figure it out and get you what you need, and you’ll be better. That’s what counts.”

Chuck wasn’t very comforted. What he wanted was blood, and his dad couldn’t just go to the shop and buy a pint for him. But Herc didn’t think Chuck was some kind of monster, just sick, so that helped a little.

“I’ll go to the butcher today and get a few jars of pigs blood, eh?” Herc continued, rubbing his face and yawning. “That way you won’t have to kill anything.”

Chuck swallowed hard, a little shudder coursing through him. He hated the idea. He _wanted_ to kill, he _wanted_ to bite, he wanted it to be live, fresh, _warm-_

“You okay?”

He blinked, his breathing slowed, and he realized he’d been panting as he relived what had happened last night. He hadn’t even realized it, until his dad was hovering over him. That he’d been imagining his teeth sinking through warm flesh, and tasting that first spurt of blood in his mouth.

“Come back, Chuck,” said Herc very softly, “come back.”

Chuck felt the first touch of skin on his face, a zing of warmth. And the voice in his head said _bite._ His dad was close enough it would be easy. Just like before. It wasn’t as if Herc would be able to stop him.

The impulse made him move, but he didn’t have to act, so he ended up kissing him instead. Pressing his lips against his dad’s, crushing them together. His eyes closed and he didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Just felt the heat, heard the sound of his dad’s heartbeat increasing. Chuck’s body was jangling with confusing emotions and feelings. Arousal and need like he hadn't felt since before he was bitten.

There was a sound outside the door, and his dad pulled away first. He looked… confused.

“Herc! You awake yet?”

“Yeah,” said Herc. “Be down in a minute.”

“Your kid go to sleep?”

“We were just talking. I’ll send him to bed in a minute.”

Their gaze never broke. Chuck felt it was different from between him and Scott. There was so much more there, and Chuck knew it wasn’t _bad,_ even if he had done something awful and forbidden. He wanted to kiss his father again, but the moment was passed, and Herc was sitting up, moving away, leaving Chuck confused.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice almost a squeak.

Herc stood up, getting dressed. “You should go to sleep, Chuck. Go to your room. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

The door opened, shut. And in the darkness Chuck didn’t move. He just felt an agonizing crush in his chest, a worry he’d opened a door he’d never be able to shut again.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh sorry this took so long. It really shouldn't I mean, I'm unemployed and all. But here we are. And warnings for dub-con in this. Scott's... not being very nice

Herc’s head was spinning as he went down the stairs. Chuck had kissed him. Had cupped his face and kissed him tenderly, like a lover, not like a son to a father. And Herc was even more confused by his own reaction - his heart rate increasing, a sense of need to kiss back, to touch him.

 _I’m a shitty dad,_ he thought, as he went into the kitchen, feeling like his entire world was about to crumble around him. _I can do better._

Scott was cooking, the scent of eggs and cheese wafting through the kitchen. Herc walked past him to the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup and drinking it scorching and black. He practically chugged the first cup before pouring himself another.

“You alright?”

Glancing sideways, he noticed Scott was looking at him funny again, so Herc gave an uneasy shrug.

“Finally slept good for the first time in months,” he said, going to the stove to examine what Scott was cooking. “Your bed is a lot better than mine.”

“You’re welcome to it any time,” said Scott. “Hansen Eggs,” he said, dishing it onto plates. “Just the thing for a pick me up in the morning.”

Herc wasn’t so sure about that. He wasn’t sure anything but a lot of hard work and sweat would make him feel better, but he took a plate anyway. The eggs at least were scorching enough to wake anyone up, with their jalapenos, crushed chillies, and enough pepper to turn them grey. Herc scarfed them down with toast, chasing burning bites with coffee.

“Christ, Herc, you starving or what?”

Herc licked his lips as he gathered his dishes to wash. “Eager to work out.”

He needed time to think, after all.

Eating quicker, Scott nodded. “Me too.”

Not knowing if his brother was up to something - Scott had developed a paunch, and Herc doubted he worked out anymore at all, since leaving the army - Herc decided to let things play out as they might. They washed dishes together, each of them changed into sweatpants and tank-tops, and went outside.

“Can you still beat my number of push-ups?” teased Herc, walking out onto the grass. He’d always been the stronger one, but Scott usually pushed himself to beat Herc’s records by the skin of his teeth.

“Course,” he said. “Jogging to warm up?”

“A race more like,” said Herc, grinning at him, doing a few lunges.

The spark of competition was in Scott’s eyes as he stretched, and the two of them took off running.

At first it was only that, the two of them jogging side by each over the hard red earth of the road, watching as the scenery moved by. The early morning sun was scorching, but she wasn’t up to full power. Soon the two of them were coated with a thin sheen of sweat, panting together. It was sort of like being in the army again, Herc felt, running drills.

He did a U-Turn, marking about a solid two and a half kilometers back to the house, and gave Scott a grin before picking up the pace. “See you at home!”

Scott, who’d been panting for the last few minutes, swore. Herc knew how it would end. Scott was an excellent sprinter, and sure enough a moment later he overtook Herc, but Herc was built for distance.

It was no one’s surprise, when Herc passed Scott easily with a half a kilometer to go. Scott was swearing, pushing himself harder, but Herc kept his pace even the entire time, just ten strides ahead.

They had both overdone it though, when they reached the yard. Herc was gasping, exhilarated, and he fell onto the grass. Scott stumbled after him, heading to the side of the house, probably to lean against it.

“We’re old men, Scott,” said Herc, laughing. Being on desk jobs and simply flying the last few years, Herc hadn’t sprinted five kilometers in too long. It felt good.

“Speak for yourself, you old bed-shitter,” said Scott.

He heard the sound of the hose, but before he could jump up and run away Scott had already turned it on him, spraying Herc where he lay in the grass. At first Herc yelled at him, before getting to his hands and knees and shaking like a dog, deciding to enjoy it.

“S’nice,” said Herc, pushing himself up higher, spreading his arms. “You probably need it yourself.”

Smiling, Scott turned the hose on himself until his shirt was clinging to his body. Herc wiggled out of his own and flopped on the grass again, sighing as the sun evaporated the water. It was nice, just being normal like this.

“You ready for more stretches?” he asked after a moment, getting up to his feet, ready to continue.

“Stretches, yeah,” said Scott, and Herc glanced in time to see Scott barrelling at him.

Scott tackled him to the ground, trying to pin him, and Herc fought back, rolling him off, laughing while he did it. The two of them fought for dominance in the grass like a couple of fifteen year olds, though Herc had the advantage of harder living, less drinking.

He felt a tickling slide under his arm, and Herc tensed. “Naff off, you wanker,” he said, bringing his legs up to shove, but Scott was fighting dirty. It was a close guarded secret Herc was ticklish, and now the bastard - “seriously, fuck off,” he laughed, rolling away, trying to crawl. Scott moved to sit on him, finger searching Herc’s side, making him laugh harder. “OI! Fucknugget, get off o’me.”

He rolled again, trying to dislodge him. Scott took advantage, his legs spreading, hips hitching up until he was straddling Herc, pinning with his weight.

Herc knew how to break it, but it would hurt him, so he relaxed, waiting for Scott to realize he was being inappropriate and to get the hell off.

He didn’t budge, though. Herc could feel Scott getting hard, and he looked away, waiting for it to be over. Scott should know better, have to know better. Herc wasn’t remotely aroused. Even thinking about sex just brought him back to the kiss he and Chuck had shared.

“Guess you won,” said Herc, softly, letting his fists open as he waited. He grinned, trying to downplay it. Waiting for Scott to realize that things between them were over.

“Guess so,” said Scott.

“Though I don’t think we can really call it winning, what with that bit of race you did.” Herc couldn’t help goading him a bit - what were brothers for? And he tried to concentrate that this was all brotherly fun, never minding that when they were teenagers ‘brotherly fun’ had meant so much more than simple games and wrestling.

Scott made a sound like that, his hands tightening. Obviously something was starting to piss Scott off.

“I’m so sick of wanting you,” said Scott, his body stiffening, pressing. Herc winced, but he figured he’d let Scott just talk it out. “Every day, seeing you. And you hardly care?”

“I care,” said Herc, “just-”

Just what never got out, though, because Scott was kissing him. A rough, needy kiss that Herc remembered. He ought to shove Scott away then, but he was still pinned, and Herc was so bad at saying no to anyone he cared about. So when Scott’s lips parted, Herc kissed back half heartedly, waiting.

But Scott didn’t seem to notice that Herc wasn’t interested. His hands were searching, pressing. Eliciting little gasps out of Herc because Scott knew all the best places to touch.

“Scott,” he panted, feeling himself get half-hard in spite of everything. Then his brother was stroking him, getting Herc completely hard and aching. It had been so long since he’d been touched...

Letting go, Scott muttered, “s’more like it,” before he started to kiss down Herc’s wet, bare stomach, tugging at his sweatpants. “I’m going to blow you.”

Herc wanted to say no, but instead he looked away again, moaning as Scott’s hot mouth enveloped him. Because this was easier. If it made Scott happy, and Chuck didn't know about it, it made everything easy if he just let it happen.

So he closed his eyes.

**

Chuck watched everything from the hall window. He was shaded at that angle, from the painful sun. The light made his eyes smart and his skin tingle, but he was okay, for now. And down on the lawn he watched as his dad simply lay down and accepted what he obviously didn’t want.

What Scott _knew_ he didn’t want.

Baring his teeth, he dragged his fingers over the old wood of the window sill, leaving long track marks. If the sun didn’t hurt him so much he’d be out there, ripping Scott off his dad. Ripping him limb from limb.

Just the thought of doing it made a throaty growl rise, scaring off Max, who ran away with a whine.

It took everything to turn away. To try to wrestle with these feelings of anger, and even ones of jealousy that he hardly understood. Didn’t want to understand.

He waited there, pressed against the wall, as his ears caught snippets of what was happening outside. He hated the way his body reacted to hearing his dad moan, even in this situation.

Chuck forced himself to stay still until they were done. He had no idea if his dad reciprocated or not, didn’t care. He just waited until he could hear them coming into the house, and Chuck flashed away into the guest room until he could hear his dad on the stairs.

A glance at the door showed a weary man. A confused one. It made Chuck’s heart hurt even more to see it. He could smell Scott on him, the musky scent of pheromones, and it made him growl, moving towards the door in a prowl.

He waited, though, until he heard his dad in the washroom, turning on the shower. Then he crept across the hall and opened the door, slipping in as quiet as anything.

Condensation was already clinging to the wood paneled walls. The humidity swirled misty wet around Chuck’s hair, as he breathed in the wet smells, relieved his dad was washing away what had happened.

He hopped up to sit on the sink, staring another long moment. “Why did you sleep with him when you didn’t want to?” asked Chuck.

Herc yelped, whirling on him. He had soap in his hands, and for a moment there was fear in his scent and his eyes, before he schooled himself. “Chuck, what…? I didn’t even hear you.”

“With Scott. I saw. Why?”

Eyes following the motion of Herc’s adam's apple, he didn’t expect an answer. Annoyance prickled up and down his spine, as they stared at each other through the clear plastic shower curtain.

“It’s none of your business,” said Herc, finally.

Unable to stop the snarl that burst from his throat, Chuck jumped up. “WHY?” He wanted to force Herc, for a moment, and he felt the will between them like a thin membrane that only had to be pushed on.

Herc sighed, reaching out to turn off the taps. “It’s complicated… I never wanted you to find out.”

Chuck was practically vibrating there on the sink, his fingers tightening around the porcelain. He knew with a little pressure he could crush it to powder. “It’s not complicated, I heard every word. You didn’t want him. I know it and so did _he.”_

“It’s not that easy!”

“So make it easy!”

“We’ve got nowhere to go!”

The words brought Chuck up short, his shaking stopping enough to focus for a moment, thinking about their little home in Sydney.

“We can’t go back. The blood stains are gone, but you and I both know there’s nothing. I - I have to keep the peace somehow, I have to-”

“Whore yourself?” Chuck spat. “He raped you. I - I-” Anger was welling up inside of him. He felt powerful, felt like he could do _anything._ “ _I want to kill him!”_

The words burst out of him as he pushed off the sink, and he didn’t want to take them back. All he could imagine was tearing Scott apart. Showing him Chuck wouldn’t be intimidated by him. That Chuck was stronger than that. So much stronger.

He looked up at Herc, growling, his body felt like it was going to shake itself apart if he didn’t move.

“Don’t you say that! Don’t you dare say that! You and him, you’re all I have left!” Herc was out of the shower now, reaching for Chuck, but Chuck backed away from him as an ugly, catlike sound clawed its way out of his throat.

“He raped you.”

“He-”

“He raped you and you want me to do _nothing!_ Fuck you, _dad.”_

He disappeared out the door with a flash, marching up and down the short hall, sunbeam to sunbeam. The light seemed to mock him with its stinging pain, and he could do nothing other than snarl, desperate for a way out but unable to find anything.

When he saw Herc appear in the hall he growled again, disappearing into his bedroom. He wanted to tear everything to pieces. Smash the whole house to dust.

“What do you want me to say?” spat Chuck, starting to pace again in front of the window. “That I’d like Scott to live? What would you do if he’d held me down and blown me when I was trying to say no?”

Not waiting for an answer, Chuck swiped at the curtains, leaving claw marks in them.

“I could break through the wall if I wanted. Straight through.” His body twisted a moment, and he paced on his hands and feet. “I could smash through the floor. I could break anything I wanted. Wood. Steel. Bones.”

“Chuck,” said Herc, trying to keep his voice even as he stepped forward, hands outstretched. “Baby boy, I need you to calm down.”

“Fuck calming down!” Chuck reached down, hooking his hands under the bedframe. It was a solid wooden thing, something passed down,or so he understood. And with a flex of his arms he flipped it, sending things crashing to the ground. He roared at it, using everything he had to not just throw himself at the human in the room with him.

Herc lunged. Chuck saw it coming like he was moving in slow motion, but he let it happen anyway. Let Herc tackle him to the ground and pin him, like the puny human could do anything to stop him. Chuck _knew_ who was the strongest one in the room.

“Get off,” he warned.

“No. You listen to me! If Scott ever touched you, I’d kill him. But I can’t have you doing it for me. Not over this.”

He pushed at Herc, exerting himself just to _not_ throw Herc into the wall, and easily toppled his dad over until he was sitting on his chest. “That’s not _fair.”_

“Fuck what’s fair! Look at you Chuck! This… this isn’t you.”

He was going to yell, make some kind of come back, when he looked around the room. Things were broken, in tatters. In the hall Max was howling, he sounded sad and broken.

This was what Chuck was now. A monster.

And with that, he crumpled. Wished he had tears, that his eyes weren’t dry and painful and stinging. “D-dad…”

“Shh,” said Herc, sitting up. “Shh. Look I just… I know why you want to do what you want to do.”

“No you _don’t.”_ Chuck made a sobbing sound, as Herc’s arms enfolded around him. “Dad I’m a monster. I’m - I’m going insane!”

“No you’re not. You’re just sick. And we’ll figure it out. I promise. We’ll get what you need. But you can’t kill people. It breaks you, Chuck. You can’t go back once you do. And Scott… what he did, doesn’t deserve it.”

Chuck pressed his face into Herc’s chest. All that bare skin, so hot with blood, made Chuck half wild. “He hurt you,” he said stubbornly.

“I let him,” said Herc, “and that’s my cross to bear.”

“I… dad. I’m not human anymore.”

“I know. But you’re still my son.”

“Dad…” he was whispering now. “I want to kill things. I… I’m so messed up.”

Herc’s arms squeezed him tighter. “We’ll figure it out, Chuck. You don’t have to kill.”

 _But I want to,_ he thought, fingers tightening around Herc’s biceps, as he thought of Scott, of Thompson. _I want to bite them._

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to wonder if anyone's still reading. I know it's pretty dark... and Scott is being a misguided asshole. I hope some people keep enjoying it to the end, which isn't far off... and if people do enjoy it, I love hearing about it. Because I do have more plans for a few mini fic's after this in this verse

Herc was loathe to leave Chuck alone with Scott, but he didn’t have much of a choice. With Scott combing the woods for whatever might have attacked the sheep, and Chuck shut up in doors, Herc took advantage and left for town. They needed groceries anyway, he told himself. Couldn’t live off crackers forever.

The local town was tiny, called Crosswood, though there was barely any trees around. Mostly it was known as a non-existent thing on the crossroads between two highways, and you couldn’t even find it on most maps.

He went to the grocery store, revelling in something more normal, but he felt strange as he picked up steaks from the back butchers place.

“Do you have blood?” he asked the butcher, on a quick and uncomfortable impulse.

The woman looked up. She was a sun-haggard looking thing, with her white hair back in a net, and she looked tired. “Normally it’s them aboriginals and Filipino's that ask that.”

Herc swallowed. “Just wanting to try some new cooking.”

“Right,” she sounded bored. “I’ve got some I was about to freeze. It’ll spoil quick though so you might want to use it tonight.”

He waited patiently while she slapped some labels on a couple vacuum sealed packages and he tossed them in his wire cart with a nod, then finished his shopping as quick as he could. He wished the place was more like Sydney, with automatic checkouts, because he felt like there was a spotlight on his back as the cashier rang him up.

It was starting to get dark when he was driving back, the blood making his mind twist about uncomfortably. He wished he knew what Chuck was. He’d maybe google it, when he got home. Do his best to find something even if it was an old wives tail.

When he was pulling into the yard he could see Brutus by Scott’s grow-op, barking at something. He took the groceries in the house quick as he could before he had to see Scott. Man was probably watering his plants anyway.

Taking the blood, he deliberated a moment before taking a pair of scissors and a big cup. There wasn’t much in the packets, but he hoped it’d be enough. He’d go to that store and buy blood every damn day if he had to.

“Chuck?” he called, waiting for a reply before going into his room. The only answer he got was a whine from Max, so he let himself in anyway.

He spotted Chuck in the corner a moment later, his face lit up by the screen of his phone.

“Playing games?” he asked.

“Reading,” said Chuck mildly. “Trying to find out what happened to me.”

“Any leads?”

“Not much,” said Chuck, standing up. It was then Herc noticed he was just in his boxers, and he looked soft and clean, like he was fresh from a shower. “A lot of old wives tales and things, really.”

Herc sat down next to him, leaving the blood and things away from Chuck so he wouldn’t have to touch them yet. Peering over his shoulder, he tried to make out what Chuck was reading, but his eyes weren’t good.

“You might have to read it to me.”

Chuck smiled, leaning into Herc. He let out a little moan. “You’re warm.”

“You’re freezing. Can’t you use a blanket?”

“Doesn’t help. The cold is in here,” he tapped his chest, before snuggling into Herc’s side.

Very aware now of how close Chuck was in just a flimsy pair of boxers, he had to remind himself that Chuck was barely turning eighteen in a week, that it was no different from shorts. And he _hated_ that he had to remind himself in the first place, he was his damn father.

“So I looked around, and mostly I found reports of people with blood fetishes, I mean there’s all kinds of online forums for that sort of thing. Serial killers, cannibals, found a site that warns Christian kids about blood-drinking satanists. It took me a bit to find the folklore.”

“Mm? And what’s that?”

“Uh, old stories from Eastern Europe. They’re called _strigoi._ They take life force, in the form of blood, from the living. Demonic strength, shape-shifting, things like that. They’re also called _upir_ or _vampire._ One person who was considered a vampire that was really famous was Vlad Tepes.”

“Vlad the Impaler?”

Chuck nodded. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“So… what you’re saying is it’s supernatural, not a disease.”

“Yeah,” said Chuck. “Makes sense. I’m really fucked up dad.” As he spoke the words became despondent, and Herc pulled Chuck into his lap. He knew how wrong it was, to cuddle Chuck like this when he was barely dressed, but he couldn’t help it.

“Why don’t you tell me some of what’s been happening?”

“I drink _blood.”_ His voice was snappish before it melted again into depression. “I hear everything. I can see a lot better. I’m too strong. I can…”

“Can?”

He whispered now, Chuck’s voice growing meek. “I can make people or animals do things I want them to do.”

Herc felt an unsettling prickle down his back as he remembered all of those strange words that Chuck would say to Max. Those commands that they always followed so perfectly. “What do you mean?”

Chuck looked up with frightened eyes, before he took a deep breath, purple bleeding into the iris’s until it was all Herc could see.

“ _Kiss me.”_

Without thinking, Herc leaned down, pressing his lips against Chuck’s. He didn’t even think about what he was doing as he stroked his cheek, cupped his face. All he wanted to do was kiss Chuck, deeply tenderly. Feel his boy’s soft lips on his own, over and over and -

\- _Wait._

He pulled away with a gasp. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” said Chuck, the barest flush of red on his cheeks. “And I’m sorry, that was really wrong of me.” He looked away. “Max?” The dog trotted over. “ _Go to the door, bark three times.”_

Obediently, Max turned around and went to the door and began to bark, exactly three times.

“But Max is a dog, he can’t count,” said Herc, feeling uncomfortable now, a deep prickling of fear in his stomach.

“He knows because I know,” said Chuck simply.

“You put me to sleep.”

“Yes.”

“You… made me go down and drink with Scott.”

Smaller, meeker. “Yes.”

Herc rubbed a hand over his face. He couldn’t deal with that right then. His son could control people’s minds. _His_ mind.

“Can you read my thoughts.”

“No,” said Chuck, “but I could probably make you feel warm and fuzzy about telling me them.”

“Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise. I - I won’t ask you to kiss me again either.”

Herc didn’t even want to _touch_ that. He didn’t know where to go with the fact that he still sort of wanted to, and he had no idea if that was to do with Chuck’s command or the confusing feelings he’d had since Chuck had kissed him the other day. _I can’t be falling for my own son._

“So is there any way to turn a vampire back?”

Chuck shook his head, looking sad.

“Okay. We can do this. I… I got you blood. Pig blood.”

Chuck looked at it, wrinkling his nose. “But it’s _dead.”_

“So? Blood is blood, right?” He shifted Chuck off of his lap before picking up the packets and the scissors and the cup. “I know it’s cold, but maybe it won’t matter.”

Chuck stayed sullen and silent, as Herc poured the blood into the cup. The two packets was barely two cups worth, but he squeezed them dry anyway and pushed the tall glass to Chuck, a little relieved it wasn’t clear.

Moving gingerly, Chuck picked it up, gave it a sniff, and then gagged. “It smells _dead.”_ He glanced at Herc, sighed, and then tipped his head back, taking a few sips before his entire body seized, a retching sound escaped his throat, and he put the glass down hard, sloping blood onto the hardwood.

“Chuck?” Herc asked, before Chuck turned, his body wracked with another gag, before he puked, spraying red over the floor. “CHUCK!”

“It’s - dead - there’s no - life.” He gagged again, heaved, and a few more red drops fell to the ground. “It hurts. Let me go and hunt.”

Herc shook his head. “You can’t. If Scott catches you outside…”

“Dad I’m thirsty,” he said. “Please. Just let me - I’ll be right back, he won’t see me…”

There was a knock at the door and Herc’s realized how hard his heart was beating, how on edge he was. “Herc, you home?”

“Is everything alright in there?”

Unsure what to do, Herc pulled his shirt off and mopped the blood off his hands and went to the door. With a glance back at Chuck - who was violently shaking his head no - he shrugged and opened the door. What else could he do? It wasn’t his home.

“Hey. Chuck’s having an attack, throwing up… nothing I can’t handle. Kid puked all over my shirt,” he forced a sad smile.

“You want me to come in?” asked Scott, his voice edging on something almost dangerous. Suspicious. Probably of Chuck and his illness. Chuck had already suggested several times of Scott’s suspicions, and Herc was starting to see it more and more.

“Uh, yeah, not a good time. There’s puke everywhere. I tried to get him to drink something healthy… I’ll clean it up. I swear.”

Scott looked Herc up and down, his eyes dragging and critical. “Right. I’ll be downstairs.”

Shutting the door, Herc sagged a moment and breathed out, terrified. They’d almost been caught out with a cup of _blood._ How could he even explain that? All he knew is they had to get Chuck better and fast. It wouldn’t be long before Scott came back.

He shook his head though and walked back to Chuck, who was still gagging on the floor like he couldn’t get a taste out of his mouth.

“He’s gone,” said Herc softly, reaching out to push his fingers through Chuck’s hair. “Breathe, baby boy.”

His breathing was laboured, his fingers twitching a little bit. Herc hadn’t seen him like this since the last time he’d tried to get Chuck to drink chicken soup for his strength. Human food - and apparently dead blood - were painful for him.

Licking his lips, Chuck opened his eyes. “Scott thinks you’re molesting me. He probably thinks you’ve just given him proof.”

“ _What?”_

.”He’s jealous, he thinks you’re molesting me and he - I know he doesn’t like me. So I don’t think he’s angry for me. I think he’s jealous.” He gagged again, turning his head and spitting blood across the floor. He was cradling his stomach, pale and weak. Looking like he was growing weaker again by the second.

There wasn’t much he could do. His jaw set, and he reached at his belt to pull the utility knife he usually carried and flipped the blade open. “I’ll make you better, Chuck.”

Purple eyes fluttered open, and it took him a moment to read his dad’s intentions. He started shaking his head, terror seizing his face, but Herc was adamant as he moved up, settling Chuck’s face between his thighs, trying to hold it still.

“It’s okay, Chuck. Just a little bit, to make you feel better,” he said, as he pulled his sleeve back. “Shh, baby boy. I’ll make it okay.”

“Dad no,” he begged, but Herc reached down and closed his eyes with his hand.

“Shh. Just let me try, okay?”

Chuck made a sad sound, but didn’t move. The sounds he made was almost like he was crying, but no tears leaked from his eyes.

A profound change came over Chuck when Herc pressed the tip of the blade to the pad of his finger. Herc hissed a bit in pain, when the first bead of blood welled up, and Chuck’s nostrils flared.

With a shaking hand, he squeezed a few drops onto Chuck’s closed lips.

The sound the boy made was… erotic. He opened his mouth at once, licking them up, stretching his mouth wide for more. Herc watched as fangs slid from his gums, sharp and cruel, several sets. His eyes were a deep burning purple, and he’d gone rigid on the floor.

“This is what you need, yeah? Living blood?” He whispered as he squeezed again, watching the drops fall into Chuck’s waiting mouth.

Chuck moaned again, a needy kind of whine Herc used to hear from Angela when she wasn’t getting her exact way in bed. It was familiar and erotic, making Herc get a semi-hard.

He put his finger in Chuck’s mouth. “No teeth.”

Chuck didn’t bite, but sucked desperately a few moments before he turned his face away, entire body trembling.

“Good?”

Chuck nodded, still looking away and at the floor.

“I’m going to clean up.”

Feeling uneasy, Herc pet Chuck’s hair again before getting to his feet. There was speckled blood all over the floor and some had slopped from the cup. With a sigh, Herc left the room and headed down stairs.

He was bent on ignoring Scott, as he went to the kitchen for paper towels and spray cleaner. His mind was already working over ideas of going out and catching a rabbit to bring back to Chuck later on.

Scott, though, didn’t want to be ignored.

“What the hell was that?” asked Scott, blocking the doorway when Herc turned.

“Chuck got sick. I need to clean it up.”

Scott shook his head. “That’s twice now I’ve seen that kid all fucked up and you missing your shirt.”

 _Oh shit._ He noticed too late that Scott’s hunting rifle, their dad’s old hunting rifle, was near at Scott’s hand. He didn’t know what to do.

“Look, he got sick, threw up. It’s on my pants, look,” he pointed at the flecks of red. “I bought him this berry juice to drink, to see if he could get a little stronger and it came right up.”

“Herc, I could hear him a minute ago. Whatever you did to him after I left, Chuck was saying _no.”_

“It’s not what you think, Scott. I’m not molesting my son.”

Scott’s hands were opening and shutting. He looked on edge, like he was ready to pick up the gun. Herc wasn’t so sure if Chuck was right. Herc couldn’t figure out if this was jealousy or protection.

“Scott…” _have to go gently here,_ “I’m not like that.”

“We were kids when we first started,” said Scott. “You’re older than me by two years. You started it.”

“I did not,” snapped Herc. “You - you were fifteen, I was seventeen, you started it. You asked me. I said yes.” He could remember it well enough. Scott begging to learn how to kiss, Herc being a horny teenager and saying yes, anything to get off.

Scott’s face twitched. “Doesn’t stop what I heard.”

“Chuck’s sick. And he’s a stubborn little shit. You know that, I know that. I’m not going to try to explain it to you. I’m not molesting my kid.”

Scott, who’d been inching towards the gun, finally stopped. He sighed, looking at Herc hard. “You’ve got to know this looks bad.”

“Everything looks bad. I’m a trainwreck. We all are.”

“Yeah,” agreed Scott, his voice soft. “Is he going to stay in tonight?”

“He damn well better if he knows what’s good for him,” said Herc. “Especially if that drongo is out there with his gun. Can I go?”

After a moment Scott nodded. “Take care of your boy. I’ll be watching TV.”

“Alright then.”

It was with a measure of relief that he was back in the small, dark room to clean. Chuck had moved, was a lump on the bed now, as Herc cleaned up the floor and took the blood in the cup to the bathroom and poured it down the drain.

Unsure what to do with the vacuum packs, he shoved them to the bottom of the dustbin, along with the paper towels, and hoped that Scott wouldn’t look too hard before garbage day. He’d take out the trash later, when he was sure Chuck would stay in bed.

Back in the dark bedroom, he went to Chuck’s side and pet him gently. It made Chuck tense, but he didn’t turn to look.

“Are you okay?”

Chuck shook his head.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Little,” Chuck murmured.

He sighed. “Was that better than the goat?”

He nodded now, and lifted his head. “It’s… what I need.”

Herc felt like a cold hand had reached into his chest. “Human blood?”

“Yeah. I need more, dad.” He turned to looked pleadingly at him. “The animals don’t taste like that. They don’t make me feel good like that.”

“I’m not sure I can get you more human blood. But I can get you more living blood tonight, okay? I’ll bring you a rabbit.”

Pushing his face into the pillow, Chuck sighed audibly, but he nodded.

Herc heard Scott call his name from downstairs, asking if everything was okay. Herc didn’t know what to say, and instead leaned over to kiss Chuck softly. On the lips, like he knew Chuck wanted. Like he knew he was damned for, especially if Scott ever saw it.

“We’ll figure this out, baby. I won’t let you starve.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning Herc woke up on the floor of Chuck’s room. Despite it being winter, the temperature in the room was swelteringly hot. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed there. The floor was murder on his back, but he refused to sleep in Chuck’s bed. Not when Scott was already positive Herc was molesting Chuck.

Blinking a few times, he became aware of Max curled at his side. The little spud was burning hot, snoring up a storm that Herc was surprised he’d slept through.

“You’re awake,” said Chuck, his voice soft.

Herc groaned, pushing himself up. Max made a snorting sound of protest and rolled over. “What time is it?”

“Ten am,” said Chuck. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at the boarded up window. “Scott checked in.”

“And?”

“He seemed satisfied you were on the floor. I told him I had nightmares.”

“Did you?”

Chuck nodded. He turned and went to Herc, kneeling on the floor next to him. “The voice is getting louder. He… it was hard. With you sleeping here.”

He didn’t know why it didn’t frighten him that Chuck was still tempted to kill him. He ought to be, any sane person would be. Instead he reached out and stroked his fingers over Chuck’s cheek. “But you didn’t do it. You’re strong.”

He shivered as Chuck nuzzled his hand. The boy was so tender with him, even though he was unnaturally strong.

“I’ll get you blood tonight. Proper blood,” he said.

“I can’t go hunting?”

Herc sighed. “No, not tonight. Not yet.”

The pout on Chuck’s face made him think of when his boy was small and didn’t get his way. It made Herc raise an eyebrow and rub his hand through Chuck’s hair, amused.

“We’ll see, alright?”

“I guess.”

“Now I’ve got to get off the floor, because I’m brittle and old.” He pushed himself up with a crack of his back and then covered his mouth in a yawn. “I’ll be back up soon okay?”

Chuck shrugged. “Don’t spend too much time. We don’t need Uncle Scott doing anything rash.”

“Okay baby boy,” said Herc. “Max, c’mon. Time you went outside.”

“Bye.”

Herc smiled at him. Knowing what Chuck was, and that his condition could be managed with just a few drops of his own blood, had him feeling better than he had in a long time. He left the room feeling achy but optimistic for the first time in months.

Down in the kitchen he chugged orange juice from the carton and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, looking out in the yard. Scott was doing something, that goddamn gun slung over one shoulder. It was getting old, how he’d started to cling to it.

Max whined at the door and Herc put the orange juice back. He was hungry, but it could wait for the dog.

The outside sun was blinding. Max immediately went to the corner of the house to pee and Scott, seeing Herc, stopped his prowling as Brutus came lumbering over with his whip-thin tail wagging.

“Phone call came for you,” said Scott when he was close.

“Hospital?”

“No. Police.”

That brought Herc up short. He looked at Scott with narrow eyes, worried about what his brother might have told the detectives, if that was who was checking in. “What did you say?”

“Not much. I don’t have much dealings with the police myself. Prefer to sort matters in house than go dob on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Scott ran a hand through his hair. “I’m still not sure if you’re sneaking into Chuck’s room for a naughty with your own kid, but there’s no denying the boy is sick.”

“Fuck you, Scott.”

“No, fuck you Herc. The other day, you said jack-all to me. And you - you have to admit, it looks mighty fucking weird. There’s a lot going on out here, ever since you two showed up. And I get you don’t want to tell me everything. I wouldn’t want to tell me neither.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scott snorted. “Berry juice, eh?”

That brought Herc up short. Had Scott seen the garbage? Herc had disposed of it. He was about to argue, to dislodge the cold feeling in his chest wondering if he hadn’t covered up well enough, when there was a sound in the drive. Max started to bark and Brutus chorused in.

The two of them turned to see an unfamiliar car pull up, and a moment later Det. Blake stepped out of the drivers side. Despite the heat she was dressed in a suit, badge around her neck like Herc might somehow forget her authority. He wasn’t pleased to see her.

“I believe I mentioned a restraining order,” he said, turning and walking over, “if you ever harassed me or my son again.”

“I’m just checking up you’re still here,” she said coolly. She looked at Scott. “You have a permit for that?”

“You probably know what brand of toilet paper I wipe my arse with, woman. You already know I’ve got a permit.”

Herc had to smother a laugh. At least Scott had his back when trouble was at the gates. “Unless you’ve got some news that you’ve apprehended the one that hurt my fuckin’ boy, you better jog on before I call and put in a complaint to your boss.”

She stopped a few feet away, hands in her pockets, eyes flicking between Scott and Herc. “No chance we could go in for a cuppa?”

“None,” said Scott simply. “Don’t make a point of letting pigs in my house. I’ll be in making brekkie. Hurry this up, Herc.”

Herc nodded as Scott whistled for Brutus. He didn’t say a word until the door slammed behind him. He crossed his arms then, standing up straight and imposing. “Speak your bit and get the fuck out of here.”

“I want to see Chuck, make sure he’s alright.”

“He’s fine. Fresh air is doing him good. Sleeping right now.”

“Hm. Is he eating well? Did you find something that works for him?”

“He’s eating just fucking fine and it’s none of your goddamn business. Why are you here, detective?”

“We have a lead,” she said loftily. “I was hoping to speak to Chuck to go over the details again. Ensure he’s well.”

“You got a line up?”

She frowned. “No.”

“You’re wasting your time then.”

She blew out a sharp breath. “Any reason you’re so hostile today, Hansen?”

“Oh. I dunno. Could be because you arrested me in my front yard while the neighbors watched. Could be that you tried to convince my son that it had been me to brutally murder his mother and stab him. I’m not entirely sure. So I’m afraid without our lawyer present we’ve got nothing to say to you. Tell your boss Chuck’s doing fine, and until you’ve got something for us, we don’t want to see you.”

Neither said anything for a long moment. Blake broke the silence first.

“My boss, huh?” she said with a small sardonic smile, nodding. “He’s just as concerned with Chuck’s safety as I am, Hansen. I’d watch yourself and your mouth when it comes to people bigger than you are.”

“Yeah?” He lowered his arms and leaned in. Normally he felt himself above intimidating those smaller than him, but with how she was looking at him he only saw two equals on the battlefield, and one needed to be dealt with. He was beyond caring about chivalry. “Was that a threat detective? Why don’t you tell your boss to come talk to me then.”

“You might be seeing us sooner than you think,” she replied with barely a blink, before turning and heading back to her sedan. “And I’d watch your personal space, Hansen, it’s bound to get you into a tight situation.”

++

Scott put on mindless telly for the day, doing his best not to talk to Herc about anything family related, instead focusing on sports, on the dogs, on the shitey reruns of Headland, some drama series their mum had always liked.

His intention was to keep the peace as long as he could, really. Because while animals had stopped dying, things were still decidedly out of hand. Something was wrong with his farm, and he knew who it centered around. He just had to wait.

When night fell, Herc excused himself for a walk. He took Max with him, disappearing to the edge of the farm with a water bottle and an excuse needing some time alone. For a few minutes, Scott contemplated stalking after him. While he was paunchy now, he wasn’t clumsy, not in the bush. But he had better things to do.

First, after leaving Brutus inside, he went out to the bins. They were tucked on the outside of the house, overflowing with trash. Scott had been neglecting taking it to the dump for too long, but for once he was glad. He’d seen Herc walk out with the bathroom trash bag the other night, after Chuck’s puking spell.

Blowing out a breath, waving away flies, he pulled his knife out and slit the bag. Sure, he didn’t want to see chunder covered paper towels, if that was all it was, but he knew it wasn’t, and it took only a moment to find the bottom of the bag, where two pieces of vacuum packed plastic were crumpled up together, full of clotted red fluid.

“Blood,” he said, unfolding one of them to read the package. He knew they’d be there, though. He’d already seen the reciept Herc had forgotten to hide.

Unsettled, Scott shoved the bathroom bag as deep into the garbage as he could to hide evidence. He’d take it to the dump tomorrow.

He went to Chuck’s room next, bringing his gun. He didn’t intend to show it to the boy, but he wanted it close at hand. Something was wrong, very wrong. And he wasn’t about to let no little psychopath try and have a go at him, weak or not. And he had to know whether or not Herc was molesting Chuck. If he was the reason Chuck was obviously getting so fucked in the head. He just wished he knew why he felt jealous thinking of it at the same time. He hated being so fucked in the head sometimes.

He didn’t knock, and instead just opened the door, ready to catch the boy at anything. Ready for some kind of proof. “Chuck?” he asked softly, stepping into the room.

The boy looked up from his phone, eyes flashing oddly in the light. For a moment it reminded Scott of an animal, like a possum watching from the trees. Then Chuck snapped his phone off, the strange glare going away, and he sat up, watching.

Unnerved, Scott stayed in the light of the hallway. “If there’s anything going on that you want to tell me, Chuck… it’s okay.”

His eyes twitched and narrowed.

“I mean it.”

“What are you expecting me to say?”

He seemed more in control than a boy his age, a boy who was so sick, had any right to be. There was something off about him. In the way he spoke, in the way he moved. He was so silent and strange now, it made Scott uncomfortable just to be in the same room as him. It made him remember when he was younger. There had been a farm nearby their own in Melbourne, that had all kinds of big cats that were retired from cinema and circuses and things, or rescued from rich men. Herc and Scott had worked there one summer, feeding, cleaning cages. Some of them - the tigers especially - always stared at him the same way Chuck was looking at him now. Like if they had half the chance, they’d eat you.

He cleared his throat. “I dunno. Stuff you think you can’t tell your dad, maybe. Stuff you’d rather tell to someone else.”

Scott took a hesitant step into the room and Chuck tilted his head at the movement, reminding Scott even more forcibly of the tigers.

“Anything you want, kiddo.”

“Funny,” said Chuck in that same dead voice, “you threatened me last time you wanted to talk man to man.”

It made Scott pause. “Look, I was drunk. I want to be your friend now. I want us to get along.”

“You mean you want me to tell you if dad’s fucking me.”

He swallowed hard. “Is he touching you?”

“You touch him more than he touches me. You touched him _that way._ You know my mum just died right?” Chuck kept watching, wouldn’t break that _stare._ Scott was suddenly desperate to get his gun, because Chuck’s voice was changing. His eyes seemed all wrong, in the shadows they looked almost purple. “I’m sick, mom was murdered… everyone thinks the guy who broke in fucked me in my dad’s own bed. Sometimes I think dad thinks it too, even if I told him and everyone else he didn’t.” Chuck leaned forward. Scott blinked, realizing Chuck hadn’t through the whole exchange. “And you touched him. Blew him. I could see, from the window. And you want to know if dad’s the indecent person here? When you knew what touching him was doing to him?”

“We’re adults.”

Chuck stood up then, looking more like he was ready to spring as he walked to the edge of the bed, his toes curling to the wooden frame. When he spoke next his voice was different, and Scott wanted to protest but he felt soft as Chuck spoke. “You’re not going to talk about this with my dad. You’re not going to come onto him again. Leave my dad alone. Now go away.”

Scott nodded. The light was strange. Chuck’s eyes were purple. “Sure, kid. Sure.”

He closed his eyes and was halfway down the stairs when he paused, trying to remember everything that was sad. If he should bother bringing it up with Herc, but something felt wrong about telling him. Better to keep the secret, he guessed.

 _I’ll find out about you sooner or later,_ he thought, going downstairs to light a blunt.

**

He’d promised live, and he didn’t know how. He couldn’t let Chuck roam the woods anymore, not with Scott believing he was so sick. So he had to do this himself somehow. But bringing back a live rabbit under Scott’s nose was going to be next to impossible.

Max was a good dog, obedient, and didn’t chase, but his presence scared off a lot of the animals. Herc envied Chuck’s ability to command Max. Hell, he envied his ability to hunt. The boy was obviously a natural, though if that was a human instinct or a vampire one remained to be seen.

So the pigs blood was cold and dead. Herc wanted to try something else. If it came from a living creature, he might be able to drink it. He had to hope on that, that the creature jus thad to be alive while the blood was drained.

It took some doing, but eventually he speared a rabbit. The creature was still alive when Herc pulled it forward, and he apologized as he pulled his knife and his empty water bottle.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Sure it was just a bit of long-ear mutton, but the act was heinous. He just hoped it would get Chuck on his feet and feeling better.

 _And how long,_ his mind supplied, as Herc dug a hole and stowed away the dead rabbit, _before you do this to a human?_

The thought was chilling as he stood, brushing dirt from his hands.

The way back out of the bush was quicker than stalking in. He whistled at Max, and headed back into the farm yard. He wasn’t surprised to see the lights on. He held out on hope, though, that Scott was passed out in his room or in front of the telly.

No such luck when he let himself in, Max on his heels. Brutus growled a bit at his arrival and he looked over to see Scott sucking on a bomber, a glass of moonshine at his other hand.

“Having a party for one?” Herc asked, toeing off his shoes.

“Something like that. Good walk?”

“Yep,” said Herc, thanking whatever gods there were that his water bottle wasn’t see through. “I’m going to check up on Chuck then hit the hay. I’m fucking knackered.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Round the edge,” he said. “You alright?”

“Yeah actually,” said Scott, standing up. “You want my bed again?”

“Ahh, fuck no. Can’t keep you out. You sure everything’s cool?”

Scott was walking over, glancing down at Herc like he was expecting something, but Herc had already made a quick stop at the trough to clean himself. There wasn’t a trace of blood on his clothes, either.

“Yeah, m’sure.” Scott bit his lip a moment, looking at Herc’s mouth. “If you get lonely, come see me.”

 _Nope,_ thought Herc, but he clapped Scott on the shoulder and headed past him, taking the stairs two at a time. He wasn’t so eager to have Chuck puke again, but he wanted to know if the warm blood would work.

**

Chuck’s nostrils flared when Herc came into the room. He could smell the blood right away, and it made his mouth water, like the living animal was right there in the room with him. He sat up at once, throat starting to ache, and he scooted to the edge of the bed.

“Where is it?” he demanded, looking for a backpack, any indication that Herc had brought a rabbit back.

“Shh,” said Herc, glancing at the door. “I bled it dry. Try this.”

Chuck snatched up the water bottle. It wasn’t as hot as it could have been, but it was warm to the touch. He popped the top, sniffing it, and his body didn’t _like_ it, but it didn’t outright reject it like it did the cold, dead pigs blood.

Licking his lips, Chuck tilted his head back and started to suck. It made him moan, squirming on the bed as he chugged it as hard as he could, hand moving restlessly in his lap, dragging at his thighs.

He finished with a sigh, sad it was done. “I need more.”

“I can’t get you more tonight. We can go tomorrow, okay? Me and you, for a walk.”

“Dad…”

“Nah. We go together or not at all. This is how it works, okay?”

He wanted to argue. To tell Herc that it was a dangerous, stupid and reckless idea to let Chuck anywhere near Herc when he wanted to feed. But what could he say or do other than give a little nod.

So he stood up and went to him, cupping Herc’s face, and kissed him chastely on the lips before he pulled away.

“Okay,” he said, hands sliding down his father’s body. He was so warm. Chuck wanted some of that warmth. The voice in his head said he’d be warm, if only he had the courage to bite Herc or even bite Scott. The voice was urgent now about Chuck feeding on _any_ human.

Herc’s thumbs stroked Chuck’s chin. His face dipped a moment, like might kiss Chuck, but then he thought better of it, pulling away.

“Any more research?”

“Same shit,” said Chuck, going back to the bed. “Besides, I doubt any of it has it right.”

“True.”

Herc sat down next to him and stroked his leg absently. “So was the rabbit good?”

“Okay,” said Chuck. It had been blood. Not by any means overly satisfying, not the way his dad’s had been. But it was good blood, fresh blood. _Living_ blood.

“I’ll get you more soon. Or I can let you hunt tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” said Chuck, spreading his legs a few inches at Herc’s touches. They were making him tingle pleasantly.

His father smiled pleasantly, obviously pleased with something. Chuck liked to see him smile like that, it was so rare lately.

“Go sleep,” said Chuck. “I’ll be okay.”

Herc nodded, leaned down to give him a kiss on his forehead. Chuck supposed it was supposed to be innocent, but he reached up, holding Herc’s face to his a moment longer, tilting his head to bring their lips together. He heard Herc sigh just a little, and so Chuck let himself moan a bit too, as their lips parted a second and he tasted his air. _God,_ how he wanted more than just a little taste.

But Herc pulled away too soon. “We shouldn’t do that so much.”

“I want to,” said Chuck.

With a shake of his head, Herc got up. “Night, kid.”

“Night, dad.”

The door shut, and Chuck was alone again. He felt a funny sensation and reached down to tug at himself, surprised to find he had an erection. He hadn’t had one since the attack, and he’d almost forgotten what it felt like.

With a little sigh he closed his eyes, just stroking, feeling himself without direction, as his eyes closed and he replayed the brief kiss in his mind. Imagined his father’s body covering his as the kiss got deeper, hotter. It helped push out the other voice, the voice of his - _father sire attacker killer -_ out. The voice that was starting to get louder, like he was coming closer.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should get my wrist slapped for one of these characters.

Herc was going out for walks every night, and sometimes Chuck joined him. Scott would watch from the edge of the house as the two of them would disappear into the treeline, wondering what was happening on those walks. It was a mystery to anyone. No more dead animals were appearing, but it didn’t mean anything, as far as Scott was concerned. He had a little blood-drinking psycho in his house.

He just wished it wasn’t as _weird_ as that.

Kieran Thompson had come over that morning to rant and rave - a missing sheep this time - but he’d brought a video tape with him. With Herc and Chuck still asleep upstairs Scott had had no problem letting him in and getting the man a coffee. He was half deranged, spitting racial slurs about the aboriginal reserve that was a few miles away.

“Now we know it was them,” Kieran spat, waving the tape. “I put a hunting camera out. Bought it for a pretty damn penny at the hunting store in Crosswood. And that damn Jack Flint had wanted to charge me extra, because of the off season, but by damn, I reminded _him_ that-”

“Get to the point, Kieran,” said Scott, feeling bored.

Kieran huffed. “Only something with human intelligence did this.” He waved the tape again.

Scott narrowed his eyes. “What did you see?”

“Something ate one of my fucking jumbucks. Put it on.” He shoved the tape at Scott, before crossing his arms.

It took a minute to set up the decrepit VCR, blowing out dust and untangling its cables. He wasn’t even entirely sure the technology was compatible, until he’d gotten it hooked up, trying to ignore the way Kieran was ranting about shooting the thing that did it, messed with his property, his things.

He was eager to see it though, and turned on the tape, holding his breath. It seemed Kieran had watched it a few times, the tape was fuzzy, but on the right spot. At first all that could be seen was a sheep walking from the herd, grazing by itself.

Nothing seemed to be out of the usual, until the sheep looked up. It was standing in the hay looking off camera, slowly chewing. For a mad second, Scott imagined Chuck looming out of the darkness with a barbecue fork. But then the sheep looked back down.

Something struck, knocking the creature over. It squirmed, flailing its legs, but it didn’t get up despite its best efforts.

“Did a snake get it?” asked Scott, watching the sheep on its own, writhing, before something happened to its neck. Blood spurted, seeming to just _stop_ as if against an invisible object. It soaked the sheep’s fur as the rest of the herd ran.

Slowly, over the course of a few minutes, the sheep stopped moving. It rolled after it had gone limp, like something had pushed it. And if Scott hadn’t been watching so closely, he would have missed the way the grass moved, like someone was walking away.

“Oh my fuckin Christ, what even was that?” he said, rewinding to watch again.

“Abo,” said Kieran. “Beats me how they got the fancy equipment to edit a video like that, but who else could it be?”

Chilled, Scott had watched the sheep die again.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, thinking about Herc and Chuck upstairs. About the blood bags in the garbage. About how he couldn’t tell Herc about what they talked about the other night and he couldn’t even figure out _why._ “Yeah it’s really fucking weird.”

He’d spent the rest of the day replaying it over and over in his head and desperately searched the internet for any kind of explanation other than video editing, but he didn’t find anything. All signs pointed to a normal phenomenon, that someone had taken the video and tampered with it. _But so quickly?_

And he couldn’t shake the feeling that the root cause was something to do with his nephew. The bad feeling wouldn’t stop persisting about him all day, until he was on the edge of a panic.

So when Herc announced he was leaving for a walk with Chuck, Scott decided he’d had enough of being cooped up himself.

“I’m going to town,” he said, standing himself. He wasn’t dressed well, but he was only going to the pub. “Do we need anything?”

“Nah we’re pretty stocked.” Herc watched him for a minute, while Chuck was putting on his shoes. The boy's movements were so clumsy and sick Scott suspected an over exaggeration, but he knew better than to say anything. “You alright?”

“Just need to stretch my legs myself,” he said, and with little more than that he went outside to his ute. Sure, it probably meant he’d be either sleeping in the shitty motel in town or driving back drunk off his ass, but he didn’t care. There was a guy down there who was willing to give a gobby for a tena, and the idea sounded appealing to him just then. Sex, no strings attached but a few bucks? Sounded good to him.

The drive into town was nice. He rolled down the windows and enjoyed the air rushing past him on the highway while he smoked a blunt and kept repeating everything that had happened over in his head. It was nice to get away, especially when he pulled into the parking lot of the local Inn and pub. Everything about it, from the cracked asphalt covered with spit, gum and cigarette buts, and dim lights that barely seemed to light the place, made Scott feel better. Especially the neon open sign.

The interior was smoky. Someone had set the jukebox to play Johnny Cash, and he sang about life among the murmur of voices and the clack of balls on the pool tables. Scott took a deep breath, felt all the supernatural, weird shit that had been going on in his farm cleanse itself from his body.

A few people waved and said hello. The bartender got him his usual - Toohey’s and a shot of rye - without asking. He chased the shot with a sip of beer, tapping the bar for another, and just let himself be pulled into the normal, sane ambiance.

He was watching a rugby game and about five shots and three beers in, not feeling one way or the other about the teams, when someone walked up and sat down next to him. Scott didn’t look over, but he felt a prickle of irritation that some asshole would pick a spot near him when the entirety of the front bar was empty.

He helped himself to a handful of peanuts, still staring at the screen. “Move over mate, I’m drinking alone.”

“Any reason you’re here, Mr. Hansen?”

Scott looked over, feeling his mood sour further. He couldn’t remember the name of that jumped up female detective that had given his brother a hard time, but he hated her on sight. Still, she was pretty enough, and Scott found himself checking her rack out before he looked up at her face again. “Drinking. Fuck off.”

She smiled. “Things not good at home?”

 _Things are shite._ “S’fine. Just wanted to be, you know, _alone._ So unless you’re looking for a dirty fuck in the alley I’d suggest you clear off.”

“How’s Chuck?” she pressed. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

He didn’t want to discuss this, as he drained the last of his cup. He put the glass down. “Little bastard’s the same as he’s always been, ain’t he? Pretty sure Herc doesn’t want me talking to you.”

“It’s not about what Herc wants, it’s about what Chuck needs. How about that beer?”

“How about you fuck off, woman.”

He got off the stool, deciding what he needed was a piss. Hopefully the persistent bitch of a detective would clear off by then. He knew he was so edgy he’d be close to spilling his guts. He didn’t want that, because he’d always been loyal to Herc. Sure he hated him sometimes, but he and his brother had each other’s backs and meshed together like no one’s business.

He was shaking himself off and tucking it away when he heard a voice at the door. “You know, I don’t like it when people badmouth what’s mine.”

Scott looked from side to side. Obviously, the voice was talking to him. He zipped up and turned to face him. A man was standing there, wearing a beat up leather jacket. He had glasses on, spikey hair. Looked like a geek.

“The fuck you want?”

“To talk.”

“I’m not looking to talk. And if you’re with the witch out front, you should just give it up now. I’m in a bad mood and you’re liable to get a broken nose.”

Scott tried to move past him, but the geek just shifted to block his way. He had green eyes, ones that seemed almost too bright. “Move.”

“Nope.”

Baring his teeth, Scott reached up to shove him, give him a warning, when the man caught Scott’s wrist. He twisted and squeezed until Scott felt like his bones were being crushed. With a little smile, he curled his arm until Scott’s shoulder twisted into his body, and walked, pushing Scott further into the bathroom even though the guy was a pipsqueak. He shouldn’t be that strong, _couldn’t be._

A moment later the crushing force on his wrist relaxed, but then the little guy had swept the feet out from under Scott, knocking him to the tile ground. Too drunk to rally himself quickly, seeing stars, Scott just groaned.

“You’re going to listen. I get tired of guys like you who never want to listen to people who are better than them.”

Scott cradled his wrist, worried it was broken or sprained. “Fuck you.”

The man waved his finger in a ‘tut tut’ gesture before going to the bathroom door and locking it. “Now you and I are going to have a conversation about Chuck. The detective out there, she tried the nice way. Now I’m going to do it the mean way.”

“You’re a cop. I’m going to have your badge for this, pig.” Scott started to sit up, working his fingers open and shut.

The man grinned then. “No, see, that’s your mistake. I’m not a cop. I’ve dressed up as one, because wow, are they ever handy for getting an invite to go inside somewhere. But no, I’m not a cop. And that detective, she’s just a pet. She agreed to work with me provided I turn her later. So, that in itself, is pretty stupid. I’ve got no real interest in her, but she’s handy.” He rocked on his heels, looking at Scott critically. “But anyway, to business. My names Newt. I want you to tell me _allll about_ your nephew. Because he’s not really your nephew anymore. He’s mine. He’s supposed to be mine.”

Scott felt a bolt of fear then, a realization of who he was looking at.

“You’re the fucker that did Angie and hurt Chuck.”

“Bingo. I mean, I did it because I was told to, but it doesn’t make Chuck any less mine. Actually truth be told, I was supposed to get the big one, Hercules. But he was gone and I saw right away the potential in that kid. I can tell already he’s got a thrall on you, and for someone who’s only had a sip of human blood? Wow. _Wow._ ”

“What the hell are you?”

Newt grinned. “You don’t actually need to know, Scott. Not yet. I can see like the rest of your family, you’ve got pretty good potential. But I can’t turn you. Not yet. We’ve got a long talk ahead of us, and you’re going to give me eyes into your little farm. Help me out, be a pal.” He reached up and bit his wrist, and Scott winced when he saw the blood start to drip to the floor.

“Don’t worry,” said Newt, with bloody lips as he walked over. His green eyes had gone brighter, to the point where it looked like he was looking at something radioactive. “One taste of me, dude, and you won’t go back.”

**

Chuck was running through the woods, leaping tree to tree. Somewhere, his dad was keeping watch and waiting for him to return. Chuck loved it, the chance to stretch his legs, to feel alive. He ran to the edge of a branch and leapt like he was moving from a springboard, spinning through the air before he landed against the side of a tree.

He didn’t need claws to dig, though, as he held fast. Something he was learning was that he could climb what he wanted to, sort of like a spider. He hadn’t shown Herc yet, because he was afraid it would scare his dad.

Full from eating a wallaby this time, he dropped from the side of the tree and landed in the loam barefoot. An animal ran from him then and Chuck contemplated chasing it for fun before he stood, shook himself out, and started to head back to his dad.

He was part of the way there, though, when he felt something twist away in his own mind. He had a sense that Scott wasn’t _there_ anymore, like he had been in the back of Chuck’s mind since he’d given him the order. He wasn’t dead, there was still an echo of him, but he was gone.

Closing his eyes, Chuck searched his mind to figure out what happened. To try to get some kind of glimpse into Scott’s surroundings without letting Scott know he was looking.

But all he saw were bright green eyes, and he tasted blood. Not just any blood. The one that Chuck could still taste when the visions of his turning came back.

He opened his eyes. He was close. He was with Scott.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand once again I can't help this thing I have for Newt on the wrong side of the light.


	11. Chapter 11

_That’s right,_ whispered the voice in his mind. _I’ve been with him a little while now, having a chat._

Chuck put his hand over his ears and winced, stepping through the undergrowth. He had to know what was happening to Scott, but when he opened his mind further that was when the other voice came in. Something sly, laughing.

_Oh come now, you had to know this was going to happen? I didn’t realize your connection with Scott Hansen was this strong. And you’ve really never had human blood have you?_

He swallowed hard. “Shut up.”

_Scott’s told me everything. Everything about your pathetic attempts to survive on animal blood, on how you’re falling for your father. Such an incestuous tangled web you have there._

“Shut up!” He jumped, climbing up a tree. Somewhere he could hear Max barking, Herc calling his name. A moment later he was in the upper branches, standing above the canopy and looking around, eyes bright purple again as he tried to breathe.

_You’ll never survive on animal blood. You already know it. You can feel it. The only thing that revitalizes you, really helps you live, is that taste you got from your father._

He didn’t know if it was the reference or something the other vampire did, but his throat started to burn as he remembered the taste of Herc’s blood in his mouth. Delicious, more than anything else he’d ever had, making the animals pale in comparison. Animals that left him feeling just as weak so soon after he’d fed.

_I’d compel you to go attack your father, but we both know by now you’re too strong for that. Somehow all those blood transfusions must have acted as the catalyst you needed. You’re a unique case._

“Shut up and leave us alone!”

_I can’t. You’re mine, Chuck. You’ll realize it soon enough._

He didn’t want that. He stood among the rustling of the leaves and squeezed his hands together, pressing in on his skull, as if a little pressure would force the voice away from him and keep him safe from his Sire’s influences. As if something - anything - could save him.

All he heard from his train of thoughts was a sly little laugh, sliding along the inside of his skull, something inky black and amused.

Down below, he heard Herc calling his name and he felt the usual stirrings in his chest to drop through the shadows. He felt like he could just let go, slip down like a great and crawling spider. The leaves wouldn’t betray his passage, no sounds of sliding branches. He’d press his hands flat against the bark and see the human standing there alone.

Fangs cut through his gums and his mouth opened. He could see himself opening his mouth wide, a silent hiss creeping its way through his throat before he dropped from the trees. He’d land on the human’s shoulders, and with an easy twist bare their throat and strike. Sink in his teeth, jaw crushing against flesh, freeing so much blood.

Drink, and drink deep.

He opened his eyes and swung his gaze upwards, looking at the stars that blanketed along the night sky that was no longer black. It was blue, Chuck could see it, how deep and perfectly beautiful it spread over head. The moon was a crown jewel glittering along with stars that humans couldn’t see, not without long exposures and mechanical means.

_It’s a gift, honestly._

He shut his mind out, forcing his Sire away as he started to descend through the eucalyptus leaves. The bark was rough under his hands as he made his way lower and lower, eyes picking out Herc’s red hair, Max’s tough body snuffling through the plants.

He let go of the side of the tree when he was clear of leaves and dropped silent through the air, falling death, and landed behind his father.

“I’m here.”

Herc jumped, spinning around. Chuck looked up at him and his eyes picked out the thudding of his jugular for just a moment before he looked away and into those bright blue eyes. He blinked, standing slowly.

“Daddy,” he murmured, feeling like a little kid, and Herc’s face was confused a moment before Chuck pushed into his arms. He pressed his face against Herc’s chest, closing his eyes, feeling his heat. He was so human.

“What is it?”

“He has Scott.”

There was a pause. Herc’s petting hands stopped. “I just got a phone call. Scott wants me to pick him up from the bar.”

A jolt of fear stabbed through Chuck’s chest. “You can’t go!”

“Are you sure someone has Scott? He sounded very drunk, and the bartender took the phone and told me Scott needed to be picked up before he was dumped in the parking lot.”

“I’m sure. He told me.”

“Your…”

“My Sire.”

Chuck stepped back, looking up at Herc. He wanted to keep being held, but he needed Herc’s eyes. It was strange sometimes, how just looking into his father’s eyes could make the world seem okay and comfortable again. Sane. Rational.

Herc pushed a hand through Chuck’s hair, ruffling it. “I’ll be okay. I’ll go get Scott and bring him home.”

“How do we know that the bartender wasn’t him?”

Herc sighed, looking up. “So we abandon Scott?”

Pushing his lip out in a pout, Chuck felt his chest sink a little. If he he had his way he would abandon Scott and never look at him again. He was someone Chuck would have no problem dropping from his life without so much as a second glance. But of course his father wasn’t like that. He held onto the good in Scott. Chuck didn’t think there was much good left in him.

“No,” he said softly, knowing that was the right answer even if it wasn’t the one he wanted to give.

“Right. You can come too if you want.”

He shook his head. “No. I’ll stay in my room. I don’t… I have a feeling that he can’t come in if I don’t let him.”

“Okay,” said Herc. “You do that. Everything will be okay. And tomorrow or the next night, we can look at leaving, okay? Finding our own place.”

He nodded. He wanted to leave. As much as he’d miss the forest and the plentiful amount of prey, he had to get away from Scott. Who knew what his Sire did to Scott in the few minutes they’d had together.

Back in the yard Herc went for the ute and Chuck followed along behind, studying how he felt, how the air felt. Wondering if his Sire was coming for him once and for all, if they even had another night.

He resolved to pack all of their things when they stopped outside of the truck.

“I’ll be right back,” said Herc.

Afraid nothing was going to be okay, Chuck leaned in and kissed him, pulling Herc’s face to his own. It was lingering and slow. He breathed his father’s scent in deep, letting it burn inside of him before he pulled away.

“Be fast,” he said.

“I will.”

He watched Herc drive away before going to the house. Maybe he’d spend daylight here, but he resolved for this to be the last night he had to endure in the house.

**

A late night knock woke Kieran Thompson up. He was sleeping in his recliner, the telly playing on low across from him, and when he opened his eyes the light felt like it was stabbing into his retinas. The knock came again, and Kieran stood, his bones aching as he picked up his gun. Nowadays, with everything trying to kill his sheep and ruin his farm, he couldn’t be too careful.

His wife appeared in the hall in her dressing gown, face pale and scared, and he waved her off, ignoring what she said. It wasn’t important.

“Back to bed, I’ll deal with them,” he said, hoping it was Scott Hansen. Useless man as the day was long, but he served and Kieran respected that.

He opened the door, expecting to see the red head and that huge dog of his, but found a police officer instead and a woman not far behind. In the yard a car was parked, lights flashing red and blue.

The officer was shorter than Kieran by nearly a foot, and his green eyes were very bright. The woman was slightly taller with hard eyes and wearing a suit, hands crossed over her chest. A shot of fear went through Kieran, thinking of his son. He hadn’t seen the lad in so long, but why else would an officer be on his property at this time of night?

“Are you here about Carl?” he demanded, putting the gun aside, opening the door wider.

“No, I’m not,” said the officer, his voice higher than expected, a little grating. “We’re actually here about some suspicious activity that’s been going on in the area. And it’s my understanding that you’ve been having some troubles lately.”

“You don’t fucking say!” said Kieran. Odd, that they were here so late over his _sheep_ , but it was about time someone showed up. “Get your ass in here and we’ll talk.”

The officer smiled, stepping over the threshold.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Thompson,” they said.

Kieran waved a hand. “Anything for the law. Any idea what it might be? I’m telling you it’s those abo’s from the rez, but no one believes me.”

He paused in the kitchen, turned to see the man still following. Silent-like. It was weird. His wife appeared in the hall, looking in, a bit frightened, but she was always like a mouse. It wasn’t strange to see her fretting in the corners.

The man set his hat down on the tidy kitchen counter. He smiled at the two of them. “You’re both here. Good.” He said it like this saved him some kind of trouble.

“Where’s your partner?”

“Oh, she doesn’t need to see this,” said the officer, putting on an amused smile. “Why don’t the three of us go and talk at the sheep pen? I believe that’s where the trouble was?”

**

When Mrs. Thompson died Chuck felt it, not because he was connected to her but because of a sudden spike of intrusion into his mind, slamming like a wedge through his brain. It seemed his Sire wasn’t to be cut out. Chuck had just finished packing their things when the taste of human blood flooded his mouth, a feralness spiked through his body, and he leapt, landing on the roof, clinging to it and arching his back like an angry cat.

 _That’s just what I’m tasting,_ they mocked, and Chuck felt how powerful they were. How strong. With human blood, and being this close…

_I should never have left you alone. I should have taken you away that night. I might have, if Hercules hadn’t come home. But this has been an interesting experiment. It’s over now._

Like something had grabbed his leg and pulled, Chuck fell from the ceiling and hit the floor hard enough that the floorboards cracked.

_Come._

“No!” he yelled, but he wanted to. Every fiber in his being wanted to go. He could still taste that blood and he wanted it. He could hear his sire in his head, practically feel him again like he had before, and he knew his Sire was offering that too. The taste.

There were no more orders, but the taste flooded his mouth again. The reminder. He could almost feel the hot blood sliding down his throat. Imagined the warmth in his fingertips and toes as he got up off the ground and went to the window, pressing his hands flat with his forehead against the glass.

 _You’ll be so strong,_ his Sire said, his tone soothing, encouraging.

Chuck’s hands crept to the bottom of the sill. He lifted the latch, pushed the window up. The wind was blowing, the dark was calling as he leaned out.

_That’s it…_

He was falling to the grass before he’d been aware of leaping from the window. Standing on the lawn Chuck knew Herc was coming but his dad was on the back burner as he started walking towards Kieran Thompson’s place.

He ran as quickly as he could, scenting blood halfway there. It made him growl, launching himself quicker through the trees even though it was sapping his strength. He was so thirsty though, the burn was all encompassing. It was all he could dwell on, as he burst from the trees and landed in the grass not far from the fence.

Standing in the pen was his Sire. At his feet were two dead bodies, and not far from him another human. The sheep were all dead to the last, strewn about in bloody heaps.

His sire looked just like he had that night, bloody uniform and all. He was wearing a leather jacket over it though. His toxic green eyes were bright and dancing.

“Glad to see you, Chuck. I’d wondered how long it would be, before you finally came to me.”

Chuck swallowed, looking up into those bright green eyes. Any will or reason he had was buried deep in his hunger as his Sire’s thrall sank over him like warm water.

“You’ve been very interesting. I’m sure you’ll continue to be, now that you’re with me. Your _real_ father.”

Chuck’s eyes twitched as something in his mind said _no,_ but he still hopped off the fence and into the pen, stalking forward like a feral thing.

“That’s right,” said his Sire, crouching. He was grinning even more brightly now. “I’ve even got a present for you. I want you to do something.”

Obediently, Chuck watched as his Sire bit his wrist and held it out for him. He opened his mouth and put his lips around the bite, moaning a little as his Sire’s influence spiked through him, rushing like a tidal wave.

 _Kill,_ he was told, and he looked up to find the woman’s eyes.

“You can have her,” said his Sire with a grin.

Before the detective had a chance to run Chuck struck.

**

Herc had a lot of time to think as he drove. Making contingency plans. He had a lot of things leftover from his time in Special Ops with the RAAF. It wasn’t all piloting, there’d been more than a few hard ground missions he’d been involved in. Herc had training in a lot of different things, things Scott had never gotten into. Disappearing had been one of those things.

He wondered if he’d have to use it, use the ‘contingency’ stash he had hiding away in the door panels of the truck as he pulled into the little parking lot next to Scott’s beat up old ute.

Inside the pub the air was smoky. Scott was slumped over a table by the bar, looking like he was completely passed out.

The bartender looked up at Herc as he walked over to the table. “So he’s yours then?”

“My brother, yeah.”

“I found him in the bathroom, passed out under the sink,” he said. “Get him out of here, I don’t want to call the cops.”

Herc gave the man a little salute, clapping Scott on the back. This was more like the Scott he knew, watching his brother’s head come up, his eyes blinking blearily. He didn’t look like he’d been bitten, and Herc couldn’t help checking his neck for holes before he helped him up and out of his seat.

Getting him to the ute was something else all together, and Herc wished Scott hadn’t brought his fucking _gun_ , or insisted that he put it in Herc’s car.

“S’expensive,” he muttered, before climbing into the passenger's side.

“I don’t give a rats ass,” said Herc, snapping his door shut. “You puke in this thing and I’m rubbing your nose in it.”

The drive was quiet. Herc wanted to ask what happened, but he knew enough from Chuck that if the vampire or _strogoi_ or whatever they were to remember, he wouldn’t. They were passing Kieran’s when he spotted the flashing lights in the front of his yard. _Police cruiser?_

Scott saw them too, and he seemed to sober up. “Hey - something’s up. We should check it out.”

“We probably shouldn’t,” said Herc, slowing down anyway.

“Just stop the damn car, Herc. Something might have attacked again.”

He was afraid of that, as he drove up the short driveway and parked. He recognized the car right away, walking over to it. It was Detective Blake’s, but no one was there. He might have gone to the door and knocked if he hadn’t heard the scream.

“Scott, stay here,” he barked as fear spiked through his system.

He knew he wouldn’t, but he had to get to Chuck. He knew it was Chuck, and that Chuck had done something irreparable. Behind him he heard the door to the ute open and he hoped Scott would be too drunk to properly follow.

He wished he didn’t find Chuck with the bodies, illuminated by the light of the moon. There had to be some explanation other than that Chuck had finally lost the battle with his worse nature. He prayed for it as his hands dropped and he felt helpless as he watched his own boy killing the detective.

“Chuck,” he said quietly.

His boy raised his head, dropping the detective. His eyes were bright purple and he was unable to look away. It was mesmerising. Like he was a mouse staring at a snake that was approaching through the grass.

“Kill him,” said a voice, drawing attention to a dark shadow Standing near Chuck. His eyes were green and as bright as Chuck’s, a colour that put Herc in mind of biohazard symbols.

Chuck stood and Herc took a step back. Watched as Chuck stepped with him. There was nothing remotely familiar in those eyes. _Chuck’s eyes are green. He smiles sometimes, when he looks at you. He’s more insecure than he’d ever let on. He’s your boy._

He opened his mouth to say something, but all he heard was a gunshot, as a hole opened in Chuck’s chest, blowing his boy back into the dirt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter maybe... hope no one hates me for the ending of this one.


	12. Chapter 12

Watching Chuck fall seemed to happen in slow motion. It wasn’t so much the force as the shock, that made Chuck’s knees buckle, his hands fly up in the air, his face a mask of shock as he slowly arched back and fell into the dirt.

When he was slumped over things seemed to move so much faster. Herc came back to his body, like he’d been floating outside of it as he viewed the scene before him. He turned, forgetting about the ‘Sire.’ Instead he saw his brother there, lowering his gun.

_My boy. He shot my boy._

He met Scott’s eyes. There was no apology there. There was a blankness, like he didn’t want Herc to read him.

Herc was powerless. His boy had a hole blown through his chest behind him, and his brother was before him, shooting without asking. Behind him the Sire said “get up,” but Herc couldn’t absorb the words.

_He shot my boy dead._

He lunged towards the gun without much thought. His hand wrapped around the burning hot barrel and yanked, yoking Scott with the strap before he ripped it from his hands. Scott wasn’t Scott anymore, when he realized in his heart that his brother was dead to him. That this person in front of him was something else entirely.

“Master!” Scott yelled, and Herc roared as he brought the butt of the gun down on Scott’s face. Again, and again, and again. He drove it into him, watching his nose break, cheeks hollow. When Scott reflexively spat a jet of blood he finally stopped, falling to his knees. His hands were burned, his body was shaking, as he heard clapping from behind him, like applause.

“Hercules,” they said, as Herc lifted the rifle. “You’re everything I imagined you to be. You’d be a _beautiful_ specimen, as beautiful as your son.”

Herc growled low in his throat and turned to see them walking towards him. The gun held a clip of five, and he barely aimed before he started to shoot. The first went wild, striking the wooden fence post with an explosion of splinters, but the last three found their mark. One through the eye, the other two grouped over the heart.

With a grin on his face, the Sire hit the ground.

He lowered the gun, breathing hard. The place was a wreck, the air smelling like blood. Herc felt hollow in his chest as he stared at Chuck’s prone body, stepping through the open and broken gate across muddy ground. He didn’t have eyes for the corpses of sheep, or the dead detective broken on the ground. He walked past the twitching body of the Sire, and sank to his knees in the dirt.

He was a father. He wasn’t meant to look down at the body of his boy, broken like a twig. He was supposed to be the one lying dead in the dirt while his boy lived on.

“Chuck,” he said, reaching for him, to draw him into his arms.

His touch had an effect though. Chuck’s eyes opened, and for a split second Herc thought he might watch Chuck die like this. But when they turned to look at him he saw the burning purple for a split second before Chuck’s chest heaved, the exposed hole slowly closing. His hands came up, digging into Herc’s shoulders, drawing him down.

Herc was yelling his name as Chuck’s head turned and bit into his hand. Pain spiked through him as he tried to keep himself from being yanked down, Chuck’s fingers digging hard enough into his shoulders to break skin, to crush.

“Chuck it’s me, it’s dad,” he said, as Chuck’s mouth opened again to snap at him, trying to pull Herc close enough to bite into his neck. He was straining to keep Chuck from killing him, using every ounce of strength. “It’s me, Chuck, and I’m here for you. I know I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left you.”

Chuck bucked again, teeth slicing through Herc’s arm. A bone cracked in his shoulder, making Herc scream, and Chuck’s hand shifted and twisted on his forearm, the snap making Herc slump again, getting closer to that eager, desperate mouth. There was nothing but hate in Chuck’s eyes as he looked up at Herc, his chest still heaving as it healed.

 _So I’m to kill my brother and die by my son’s hands. How biblical,_ he thought, as he strained for a breath, using the last of his strength to keep the two of them apart.

“It’s okay, Chuck… we can go home now. It’s over, and we can go home if you want.”

The pressure in his arms slackened and Herc slumped a little, supporting himself on an arm that was ready to give out. Chuck’s hands weren’t squeezing so hard anymore. He still had hate in his eyes, as he reached up to claw at Herc’s face. The force was bruising, sending a burst of light in his eyes, he felt his cheek cut against his teeth.

“We can go home, Chuck. We don’t have to fight. We don’t.”

His boy made a sound of anger, but his hands didn’t seek to hurt anymore. They fell back, clutching at his own face as he kicked in the dirt.

“I love you, boy,” he rasped, as his body gave out and he slumped in the dirt over Chuck’s body. “You can fight him. You can do it.”

Chuck rolled away from him, leaving Herc alone on the ground, consciousness slowly slipping away.

**

Everything was hate and the need to kill. He was ordered, the edict still flaring like a white-hot brand against his brain. It seared through everything, dashing away whatever Chuck used to be, ripping him up and apart.

But his sire had gone quiet, the edict weakening with a burst of mental anguish. His Sire wasn’t dead, no, but he’d gone quiet. He’d left him! He was alone, alone without guidance. Weak and unable to do anything.

At least, until his prey had shown himself. Thrown itself at him in a fight. He could do something for his sire, anything for him, while his body struggled to heal around the lump of metal in his heart.

He could do this thing. He could ignore the pestering voices, both outside and in, that begged him to stop. He could break free of whatever was holding him back and kill everything, become everything his master needed.

Except that he couldn’t. He knew how easily he could break the human. He knew within seconds he could slice his throat, drink him dry, and wait for his master’s revival. But he couldn’t do it.

He looked up into clear blue eyes and heard him speak with a familiar deep tone, rich with memories behind it. It made Chuck’s eyes ache like there could possibly be tears, as the voice in his head pleaded for him to stop.

_We can go home._

Home.

Home was broken. Home was ripped to pieces by his Sire, his mother killed, his body defiled with blood. Home wasn’t _real._ Except that it was, in it’s own way.

Home was with his dad. Sitting in his arms, sharing little kisses that were slowly getting more directed, more heated. It was security, it was a safety net. And he was trying to kill him even as it continued to protect him.

He clutched at his head, letting out a howl of frustration as two halves of his mind fought each other for dominance. One wanted to kill, the other just wanted to live.

“Dad,” he croaked, getting to his hands and feet. He looked at him with clear eyes and felt a flood of remorse and agony for not being stronger, for not keeping him safe.

Herc was watching him as he crawled forward. He smelled like blood, he looked like he was drifting away. Chuck leaned down and pressed wet lips against his for a moment, and he caught his eyes.

“ _Sleep,_ ” he said, “ _and hang on for me.”_

He pressed repentant kisses against Herc’s closed eyelids, leaving small wet smears, and he stood. In the distance he could hear sirens approaching.

He went to his Sire’s side. Their mouth was working open and shut a moment, eye a bloody wreck. He felt the prickling in his head, as his Sire tried to communicate.

Chuck’s lip curled.

He leaned down, grasping his head, and twisted.

**

In the end, he did the only thing he thought he could, to spare his dad.

But Chuck knew he couldn’t stay away.

**

Music was playing softly in the hospital room. Tess Hansen had left for the night and left the radio on low. It was something she had remembered that Herc had liked when he was a child, and it was all she could do.

A machine beeped, and a bag of saline dripped into an IV. Asleep on the bed, Herc Hansen’s chest rose and fell, slow and even. Detectives and nurses came and went. A police officer was posted at the door. He wasn’t handcuffed, nor under arrest. _For his own protection,_ they’d told his mother.

The hospital was a small-town thing. They’d been equipped to deal with Herc, so they let him stay instead of air lifting him to Sydney. He hadn’t even woken up yet.

The window opened soft and slow, and a shadow crept inside. Wind billowed the curtains a moment, but no one noticed outside the open door. The lights were dim, and nothing seemed to stir as it moved to Herc’s side.

Lips moved against his ear and Herc drew in a deep breath. His breathing stayed slow as his eyebrows twitched. The mouth moved and found his own in a slow kiss, pressing again and again. Herc knew who it was without opening his eyes and he sighed. He was so tired. But Chuck was alive.

When Chuck pulled away their eyes met. Chuck's green eyes were normal, he was his boy again. A hand stroked over Herc's hair.

“Pretend you don't remember a thing,” he urged, “and we'll be okay.”

“What about you?”

Chuck smiled, his eyes sad. “What about me? I'm dead now.” He gave Herc another kiss. “I have to go. Remember – you don't know anything. We'll go somewhere nice later... somewhere safe.”

Herc shook his head. “What happened? Why-”

Chuck’s finger gently pressed against his lips. “I’ll tell you later. Right now you just need to know I’m alive. And I’m waiting nearby for you. We’ll go somewhere safe when this is done, right? When you’re… healed.”

“Anything for you,” he said, and Chuck smiled at that, leaning in to kiss him. Their lips met in a tender, controlled way. Chuck didn’t seem to want to force it deeper, like he was being ginger with him, to keep from hurting him.

When he pulled away he murmured apologies against Herc’s cheek, and Herc wanted to soothe him, pet him, but he couldn’t move his left or right arms. So instead he just whispered, “It’s okay.”

There was a sound at the door. Chuck glanced up before looking down again. He looked sad. “I’ll be back soon, and every night.”

He disappeared a moment later out the window, sliding it shut behind him as a nurse came to check on Herc. He was enough of a man to admit he was so relieved he cried.

**

He got up from the table as naturally as anything. Naked, he walked across the room and into the hall to find the mortician hanging up their lab coat, getting ready to close.

They didn’t even make a sound, as hands came around their mouth and yanked them back, teeth biting deep into hot flesh. The struggle was brief, and with a few careful snaps even a human could fit into a small locker.

Licking blood away from his lips and dressed in scrubs, it took him only a few minutes to find Scott Hansen’s room. He refused to go back to the Progenitor empty handed. And if he couldn’t have Chuck and Herc Hansen now, he’d have them sooner or later. He’d have all three.

His room was guarded, but dressed as an orderly he was allowed to enter. Deep asleep, bandaged, and face still sunken, Newt tapped his knee hard enough to wake him up.

He grinned, when Scott’s eyes opened. “Hey dude. We’ve got work to do.”

“M-master?” asked Scott, his voice a rasp.

“That’s right,” he said. “I’m still disappointed in you, for shooting Chuck. You ruined everything. But that’s okay. We learned a lot, about how strong Hercules is, and how strong Chuck is. We’ll fix everything with time.”

Newt licked his lips. He was cut off now, from Chuck. He had no idea what Chuck was doing, just that the boy, strengthened with human blood, had finally closed their link.

That was for later.

“Time for an experiment,” he said as his fangs slid from his gums and he leaned down.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thank-you guys for riding along for all 12 chapters :) And ah, I'm aware the ending is unfair but if anyone is interested I WILL WRITE MORE. Much more. I love this verse, I have feelings (and plans) about it and for it. Hope you enjoyed it...


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